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Above the roar of the waters they could hear the 
SOUND OF THE AXE. — Page 114> 



NORMAN CARVER SERIES 


WITH PICKPOLE 
AND PEAVEY 

OR 

Two Live Boys on the 
East Branch Drive 


BY 

C. B. BURLEIGH 

Vi 

AUTHOR OF “THE CAMP ON LETTER K,” “RAYMOND BENSON AT 
KRAMPTON,” “THE KENTON PINES,” “ALL AMONG 
THE LOGGERS ” 


ILLUSTRATED BY H. C ED HOARDS 



LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 


I* 


Published, August, 1 909 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Two Copies Received 

FEB 15 1809 



1-2.0 asi 

COPY tS. 


Copyrighted, 1909, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All rights reserved 


With Pickpole And Peavey 


Norwood Press 
Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass. 

U. S. A. 


TO MY WIIfE 

WHOSE INTEREST HAS INSPIRED THE WORK 
THIS BOOK 


IS AEFECTIONATEEY DEDICATED 







PREFACE 


In All Among the Loggers,” the first volume of this 
series, an effort was made to give an accurate picture of 
the life in a Maine logging-camp among the hardy men 
who engage in the primary work of converting the vast 
resources of the forest to the uses of civilization. 

Where the logger completes his work, the labors of the 
river-driver begin. The logger has cut down the tower- 
ing trees, and converted them into '' saw-logs.” He has 
piled them up in huge heaps, known as ” landings,” along 
the shores of the waters upon which they are to be floated 
to the big sawmills where whirring rotaries convert them 
into the long and short lumber of commerce. The task 
of rolling these logs into the water — known as breaking 
in ” the landings — and floating them upon the full flood 
of the spring freshets to the sawmills many miles away, 
is the special province of the river-driver. It is needless 
to say that his calling is a hazardous one, demanding in 
full measure the highest qualities of physical endurance, 
skill, and daring. To give some conception of the life he 
lives and the dangers he encounters, is the purpose of the 
following pages. In them the reader will meet again, 
amid new scenes and associations, some of the more 
prominent characters who figured in “ All Among the 
Loggers,” including Norman Carver, Fred Warner, Billy 
Eustace, Sol Soc, Jud Skinner, Pete Bedotte, and Felix 
Lamarre. 

If any of my friends among the Maine land owners and 
operators feel that I have been somewhat free in my treat- 

y 


VI 


PREFACE 


merit of historical facts and incidents, I must beg them to 
remember that the following pages merely embody a story, 
and while describing accurately the physical characteristics 
of the wild and picturesque country which serves as its 
setting, using therefor the correct geographical names, no 
attempt has been made to observe more than general accu- 
racy in the treating of the historical events touched upon. 
The details with which they have been invested are, neces- 
sarily, a part of the story. 

An effort has been made to present to the reader a 
correct picture of the daily routine and experiences of a 
Maine “ drive,” with its incessant toil, its hardy out-of- 
door life, and its ever present dangers. 

If the author has been fairly successful in accomplishing 
this purpose he will be content. 

C. B. BURLEIGH. 

Augusta, Maine. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 
XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 


PAGE 

On the Sebois Tote-Road . . . . i 

The Scrap at Hunt’s Peace . . . .13 

Attempted Burning oe the Sporting Camp 26 
The Trip to Sebois Grand Lake . . .39 

’PoEEON Caron’s Windigo . . . .52 

The Capture of the Windigo . . .66 

Norman Tries Spike-Soee Shoes . . .79 

On the Lower Sebois 92 

Norman Breaks the Big Jam . . .105 

Through the Shadow of Death . . .117 

An Adventure With Camp Thieves . .130 

Off for Chambereain Lake . . . .143 

A Trip Through the Lake Country . .156 

The Arrivae at Chambereain Dam . .169 

In the Hands OF the Enemy . . . .181 

The Camp of Gusty Peters . . » .194 

A Midnight Conference 207 

The Escape of Norman and Fred . . 220 

At the Home of the Hermit . . . 232 

The Reappearance of Gusty Peters . . 244 

The Enemy Discomfited 256 

A Night Encounter 268 

vii 


CONTENTS 


viii 


CHAPTER. 


PAGE 

XXIII. 

Gusty Peters in the Toies 

. 281 

XXIV. 

The Return to Chambereain Dam 

• 293 

XXV. 

The Escape oe Peters and Jasper 

• 305 

XXVI. 

Back to East Branch Waters 

. 318 

XXVII. 

Jake Wieey and the Bear 

• 329 

XXVIII. 

A Forest Cerberus 

• 341 

XXIX. 

The Night Raid on Croweey’s Camp . 

• 35 ^ 

XXX. 

Norman and Fred Keep Vigie 

. 366 

XXXI. 

CONCEUSION 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


Above the roar of the waters they could hear the 

sound of the axe (Page 1 14) . . . (Frontispiece) 

FACING 

PAGE 

The logs running well 12 

At the foot of the Pitch 38 ^ 

For a moment the Windigo struggled furiously 

but hopelessly 76 

The beginning of a jam 104 ' 

Picking a big jam 116 

Working out a wing jam 142 

Waiting for the opening of the sluiceway at the 

dam 168 

Don’t ye think it’s a trifle hoggish not to pass 

’em ’round?” 188 

The tail end of the drive — the cook’s batteau 

and supply boat 206 ' 

The supply boat running the falls . . . . • 230 

Peters fell with a prodigious splash 260 

A snack ” at the cook’s wangan 280 

The rear drive clearing the shores 304 ' 

Just below Chesuncook Lake, Penobscot River 328 ^ 

Ripogenus Falls, Penobscot River 340 ^ 



\ 



/ 


CHAPTER I 


ON THE SEBOIS TOTE-ROAD 

“ Going to give us the cold shake, are you? 

An amused smile lit up the grim, weather-beaten face 
of Billy Eustace, as he addressed this question to Nor- 
man Carver who had jumped from the lumbering tote- 
team, and was stretching his cramped limbs by the side 
of the wood-road. 

Yes, IVe concluded that it’s cheaper to walk,” 
returned Norman, good-naturedly. 

A boisterous shout of laughter from the men on the 
long buckboard that was picking its slow and tedious 
way over a rough forest thoroughfare, greeted this 
announcement. Maine loggers and river drivers dearly 
enjoy the tribulations of a tenderfoot. 

Ba golly ! You must excuse to me,” called out 
big Pete Bedotte, who was driving the powerful span 
of black horses that hauled the groaning load. “I 
lef’ ma oatomobeel on top ma belle maison down 
Mad’waska.” 

’N’ I hev’n’t quite finished the steerin’ gear on 
my new flyin’ machine,” added Jud Skinner, in a tone 
of solemn regretfulness. 

Norman smiled at these and other pleasantries of 


I 


2 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


his companions, but forbore to answer. It was the 
1 2 th day of May, clear and sunshiny. Already the 
woods were permeated with the steamy, aromatic odors 
of awakening and expanding life. There was a subtle, 
pervading charm in the atmosphere, and as he made 
his way through the deep woods in company with his 
light-hearted companions Norman had felt his pulses 
throb with the exhilaration of its influence. 

He had arrived in Patten by train that afternoon, 
and had received a cordial welcome from Billy Eustace, 
Fred Warner, Felix Lamarre, Jud Skinner, Sol Soc, 
and big Pete Bedotte, who were already on the ground. 
Norman was not a little surprised to see Sol and Pete, 
for he had not dreamed that Harry McMurray could 
be induced to part with them. 

He didn’t want to let me have ’em,” explained 
Eustace, but I made it a personal matter with him. 
Made him see at last that he could get along without 
’em, while with me ’twas a clear case of getting the 
woodchuck.” 

There were also half a dozen new men in the party, 
strong, wiry fellows, wearing new big-buckled leather 
shoes studded heel and sole with sharp-pointed calks 
of wrought steel. 

** Bound t’ break ’em in at the fust opportunity,” 
said Skinner, noting the curiosity with which Norman 
viewed this bristling foot-gear. ‘‘ It’s better than t’ 
work ’em out new on th’ logs. Tell ye they’re great 
things ! ” he added, with enthusiasm, ‘‘ Make a man a 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


3 


part o’ th’ log he’s ridin’. Couldn’t do drivin’ nohow 
without ’em.” 

There had been no delay after the arrival of the train 
in taking the long road through the woods for Sebois 
Grand Lake, at whose head the drive, which would 
later be floated down the Sebois river into the East 
Branch of the Penobscot, would be started. For a 
time the big buckboard, whose load consisted chiefly 
of the men it carried and their luggage, made its way 
over an excellent turnpike road. Riding upon it was 
comparatively easy, and Norman improved the oppor- 
tunity to question Billy Eustace, and make the acquaint- 
ance of the new men. 

“ Got our supplies and ....deaux into th’ head o’ th’ 
lake last winter, when we could haul them on the snow,” 
confided the boss. “ I tell you I’ve got some rattlin’ 
good boats up there. All of the Maynard type. Cost 
a little at the start, but there’s no other batteau that 
compares with them for service to my way of thinking. 
I expect to work about forty men. I sent Barney 
O’Connor to Sebois Grand Lake yesterday with twenty- 
five men. He’ll have the camps all ready for us when 
we get there, and should be well along with whatever 
repairs are necessary on the dam. Ah, there’s a man 
for you,” he added, with an accent of pride. “ Doesn’t 
know fear, spry as a cat; rather fight than eat, and 
chuck full of the Ole Scratch from one day’s end to 
another. You can’t help liking him, but it won’t do 
to give him much rope. He’s no respecter o’ persons.” 


4 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘ Forewarned is forearmed/’ laughed Norman. 

“ Jeff Billin’s’s place/’ announced Eustace as they 
passed a barn-like frame house, standing in a little 
clearing in the woods, and whose broad piazza floor, 
deeply pitted with the indentations of innumerable 
spike-soled shoes, proclaimed its public character. 

‘‘ It won’t be as good going from this out,” he 
added — a statement that was speedily verified. The 
road, no longer a turnpike, wound its tortuous way 
through a dense forest growth. It was seamed with 
heavy wheel ruts, and dotted with boulders over which 
the big buckboard bumped and slid at ever changing- 
angles. To such an extern uhad the heavy tote-teams 
cut into the soft soil that tnt? road, flooded at frequent 
intervals by the spring freshets, had the appearance of 
a canal, and in places its sides were two or three feet 
higher tjian its surface. It was a one-team way, and 
it was evident that were two teams to attempt to cross 
in it, the task would almost certainly be attended with 
difficulties. Here and there the spring freshets had 
made the way impassable, forcing the teamsters to 
swamp new ways through the woods to avoid the bogs 
and mire holes, or to resort to corduroy, of which the 
road now boasted considerably more than its fair share. 
Looking ahead on this road it seemed almost impossible 
for a team to haul any load upon it, and Norman mar- 
velled at the skill with which big Pete Bedotte steered 
his wonderfully sure-footed horses around and over its 
obstacles. Riding soon became a torture to him, and 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 5 


he would have followed Sol Soc who, disdaining a seat 
on the buckboard, had left the team and gone swinging 
out of sight up the road, had he not felt that his com- 
panions were observing him out of the corners of 
their eyes, and, doubtless, speculating upon his staying 
qualities. 

At last, however, he could endure it no longer, and 
took to the road, as has already been related, unmindful 
of the laughter of the men. He was not obliged to 
walk alone, however, for Fred Warner was only too 
glad to join him, and, pushing on, they speedily left 
the slow-moving buckboard in the rear. 

It's a relief to get off that team," confessed Nor- 
man, as they picked their way over boulders and around 
stumps and mire holes. “ Fm only sorry I didn’t do 
it before." 

“ I knew you’d come to it," returned Warner, with 
a smile. “ I was waiting to join you." 

" Got a race o’ dwarfs at t’other end o’ this line," 
said a voice behind them. “ Used t’ be tall men, but 
got squat t’gether a-ridin’ over this road." 

The boys turned to meet the solemn countenance of 
Jud Skinner. 

“ Couldn’t Stan’ it," he continued. “ I’ve pretty 
nigh bitten off my tongue already a-joltin’ over rocks. 
Them other fellows would be mighty glad to hoof it, 
I suspect, if they wasn’t afeared o’ dullin’ the calks in 
their new shoes. Never troubled me. I can tech ’em 
up now ’n’ then with a file, ’n’ when they git past 


6 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


mendin’ there’s new ones to be had from th’ wangan.” 

“ I wouldn’t ride another three miles over this kind 
of a road for the best pair o’ boots in the stock,” 
declared Fred Warner. 

‘‘ No more would I,” acquiesced Skinner. A feller 
would take a pesky sight more ’n thet out of his con- 
stitution. I remember a chap once as — ” 

“ Here’s trouble,” interrupted Norman, as they came 
in sight of a buckboard drawn by a pair of big-framed 
bay horses, poor and bony from a hard winter’s work 
in a logging-camp. The team was standing in a pool 
of black, muddy water at the foot of a short hill, while 
the driver was bearing something from a clump of 
alders that grew by the roadside. 

What air ye — mired ? ” shouted Skinner. 

No. Losum big load,” responded a guttural voice, 
and for the first time Norman and his companion 
perceived that Sol Soc was standing in the shadow 
of some fir trees that grew half-way up the opposite 
slope. 

At this moment the teamster made his way into the 
road, lugging the scratched and mud-stained form of 
another man in his arms. He threw his limp com- 
panion upon the load and proceeded to secure him 
there with a long binding rope. 

** There, ye cheap yeller cur — ye dirty hog, I reckon 
ye’ll stay there a spell,” he said, grimly, when he had 
completed his task. 

Ben a-flyin’ of his kite ? ” asked Skinner, affably. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 7 


For the first time the driver appeared to notice his 
spectators. He was a swarthy-faced man of powerful 
build, standing fully six feet in height, with broad 
shoulders and barrel chest that indicated enormous 
physical strength. 

He turned a scowling and resentful visage upon his 
questioner. 

‘‘What’s thet t’ you?” he growled, resentfully. 

“ I was only askin’ of ye a civil question,” retorted 
Skinner, with spirit. “ Black Jake Jasper, or I’m a 
liar! ” he added in an undertone to Norman and Fred. 

“ It’s none o’ your bus’ness, understand that? None 
o’ your bus’ness. I don’t need any o’ your help, an’ 
I won’t Stan’ any o’ your interference. I’m capable o’ 
handlin’ my own affairs without you a-buttin’ in.” 

Skinner, thoroughly aroused, was about to make 
an angry rejoinder, when a small black dog emerged 
from the alders, ran towards them a short distance, 
growling and snapping, and then, turning about, slunk 
back under the buckboard with drooping ears and tail 
between his legs — a pitiable picture of abject misery. 

“ He shameum dog,” commented Sol Soc. 

For the first time the big driver, glancing up the 
road, became conscious of the Indian’s presence. 

“ An’ the red calf spoke also,” he commented, in a 
sneering tone. 

“ I smell a fight,” muttered Skinner. 

A flush of anger mantled the dark face of the Indian. 
A few quick strides brought him to the buckboard. 


8 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘Who callum you calf?’’ he demanded, with low- 
ering brows. 

“No one,” responded the driver, with a harsh laugh. 
“ It wouldn’t be healthy for any one t’ call me a calf.” 

“ Me jus’ sam’,” responded the Indian, grimly. 

It had evidently dawned upon Black Jake that he 
had stirred up trouble enough to satisfy, temporarily 
at least, the wildest cravings of his quarrelsome spirit. 
He was a man who knew not the weakness of physical 
fear, but he recognized in the Indian a man of great 
strength, who would certainly prove a formidable 
antagonist. For a moment the two men watched each 
other warily. Black Jake standing upon his load with 
his reins in his hands. 

“ G’lang,” shouted Skinner, sharply. 

The horses jumped quickly forward. The wheels of 
the buckboard struck sharply against a big boulder as 
they emerged from the mire hole, and Black Jake, 
taken completely by surprise, reeled for a moment upon 
his uncertain footing and pitched heavily to the ground. 
In a flash the Indian was upon him like a tiger. The 
two men struggled like giants upon the edge of the 
mire hole, first one and then the other seeming to have 
the advantage. 

“ I makum you eat dem calf,” grunted the Indian, 
savagely. 

“Ye coward!” gasped Black Jake, breathing hard. 
“Ye took me foul. I’ll have yer heart, yer red 
heathen.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 9 


The little dog came snarling from beneath the buck- 
board, but Fred Warner seized him by his collar and 
led him, whimpering, back to his place of refuge. 

Black Jake wrenched an arm free from the grasp of 
the Indian, snatched a sheath knife from his belt and 
attempted to use it upon his antagonist; but Norman 
seized the uplifted arm with both hands, and, with the 
assistance of Skinner and Fred Warner, succeeded in 
securing possession of the weapon. As they did so 
the Indian came astride of his fallen foe with a grunt 
of triumph, and grasped him by the throat with an 
iron grip. The fight was quickly choked out of Black 
Jake and when the Indian, at Norman's earnest request, 
finally released his hold upon him he lay weak and 
gasping upon the ground. 

‘‘ Purty nigh put 'im through th' Hullin' Machine 
thet time — th' yeller-eyed goat," commented Skinner, 
exultantly. 

The Indian, with folded arms, stood looking down 
upon his victim. 

A moment later Black Jake rose unsteadily to his 
feet, and glared upon them with bloodshot eyes. His 
face was scratched and bleeding, his clothes were cov- 
ered with mud, and he was not an edifying spectacle. 

“ Four agin one ! " he panted, wrathfully. ‘‘ Oh, 
what a nervy gang ! " 

“ Perhaps ye've found out thet common decency 
pays in th' long run, 'n' sometimes 'n th' short one," 
retorted Skinner, sharply. 


10 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Not from you — ye brindle cur,” yelled Black 
Jake, and bending quickly forward he hit Skinner a 
swinging blow on the chin that sent him spinning into 
the bushes. Black Jake would have followed him up 
and punished him further had not the others pulled 
him back. 

A yell of rage and pain came from the big teamster 
a moment later, as Skinner, foaming with rage, shot a 
spike-soled shoe from the bushes and sunk its steel 
calks in his leg. Norman hastily stepped between 
Black Jake and his new antagonist. 

“ Hold on, Skinner,” he cried, in genuine alarm. 

This has gone too far. Let up.” 

At this moment Pete Bedotte^s team came in sight 
over the brow of the hill, and there was the scraping 
of steel calks against the rocks in the roadway as the 
members of the crew, unable to wait the slow motions 
of the horses, and unmindful of their new driving 
shoes, came tearing down the hill in the wake of Billy 
Eustace. 

“ What’s up ? What’s the trouble here ? ” demanded 
the boss, sharply, as he caught sight of Black Jake. 

“ He and Sol have been a-scrappin’,” explained Fred 
Warner. “ There were words between them, and then 
they clinched.” 

“ He tried to stab Sol,” added Norman, “ but we 
got his knife away from him.” 

‘‘ He gin me a dirty clip when I wasn’t expectin’ of 
it,” declared Skinner. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY n 


‘‘ And you spiked him ? ” questioned Eustace, with 
a gleam of comprehension. 

“ Thet’s what I did — th’ skunk,” returned Skinner. 

Sometime I’ll get hold o’ you when ye haven’t yer 
body guard with yer, and wring yer wuthless neck,” 
threatened Black Jake, his coarse features convulsed 
with passion. 

No, ye won’t,” retorted Skinner, warmly. If ye 
ever attempt t’ lay a finger on me agin. I’ll fill ye so 
full o’ lead that ye’ll be good for nothin’ but an anchor. 
I will, jest as sure’s ye’re born.” 

‘‘ Hold on ! Go slow here. Go slow, I say,” inter- 
posed Eustace. I guess that when you think it over 
a spell neither one of you’ll want t’ spend the rest of 
your lives at Thomaston. It’s a good enough town 
on the outside; but that isn’t the part that you’ll see if 
you go t’ carrying out those kind of threats. What’s 
the trouble with you, anyhow ? ” he demanded of Black 
Jake. 

Nothin’,” was the sullen rejoinder. '' I was 
a-mindin’ my own business, an’ takin’ care o’ my 
own troubles, when these fellers came along an’ 
began buttin’ in on matters that didn’t consarn ’em. 
I wouldn’t Stan’ for it, thet’s all.” 

“ An’ so ye proceeded to insult us,” added Skinner. 

‘‘Who is that man on your team?” asked Eustace, 
ignoring Skinner’s remark. 

“ My brother.” 

“ Drunk?” 


12 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Hesn’t drawn a sober breath for a week ’n’ is 
drunkest now thet he’s ben at all. He’s fallen off the 
buckboard three times sence we left Patten; but I 
reckon he’ll stay where he is a spell if thet bindin’ rope 
holds tough.” 

Wasn’t feelin’ any too pleasant,” suggested Eus- 
tace. 

‘‘No, I wasn’t,” admitted Black Jake. “ I wanted 
t’ be let alone.” 

“ Do you want to go on ahead ? ” 

“ No. There’s a cut around on top this next pitch. 
I’ll turn out there ’n’ let ye by. All I want is the 
road.” 

“ Well, you can have it an’ welcome,” said Eustace. 
“We hadn’t any notion of taking it with us. Go 
ahead.” 

Black Jake started his team, and drove up the slope 
ahead of him which was known in that country, in 
common with other small hills, as a “ pitch.” A little 
later he stopped his team and permitted Pete Bedotte 
and his party to pass him where a “ cut around ” in 
the woods made it possible to do so. 

A look of bitter hatred glowed in the deep-set eyes 
of Black Jake, and it was evident that he would not 
soon forget or forgive the rough usage he had received. 



V 


The logs running well. — Page 12. 









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CHAPTER II 


THE SCRAP AT HUNT’s PLACE 

“ Ma gosh ! I t’ink dat ban wan ver^ ver’ bad man,” 
commented Felix Lamarre, when Black Jake and his 
team were no longer in sight. “ I ban scare he keel 
som’ wan. I shut ma eye. I close ma ear.” 

“ Th’ scrap was all over afore ye got there,” said 
Skinner. “ I was jest a-puttin’ my trade mark on ’im 
when ye hove in sight.” 

The party was once more assembled on the buck- 
board to discuss the unexpected encounter with Black 
Jake. Even Sol Soc was with them, for, taciturn as 
the Indian was by nature, he loved dearly to listen to 
the conversation of his companions when any topic of 
interest was under discussion. 

‘‘ I'm mighty sorry I didn't hev' a chance t' git at 
least one swing on 'im. I hevn't ben in a rale good 
scrap for more'n a month,” remarked Long Tom 
Boggs, one of the new men. “ I alius was an unlucky 
critter,” he added, regretfully. 

“ An' you have dem nice, beeg, long arm,” said Pete 
Bedotte, admiringly. “ Ba Joe! I t'ink mebbe you 
reach you de room across an' pull wan ear r-rat out 
som' wan's face." 


13 


14 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ I might try it jest once, I reckon, if I hed a good 
chance,” returned Long Tom, modestly. 

“ Shouldn’t wonder a mite if you got it, sooner than 
you expected,” said Eustace, gloomily. “ I didn’t want 
any scrapping on this trip, but it looks ’s if we were in 
for it. Black Jake is an Allegash man — one of Gusty 
Peters’s gang. I shouldn’t be surprised if we found 
some more of them when we hang up for the night at 
Larry Hunt’s place.” 

Ba cripe ! I hope dat ban so,” said Pete Bedotte, 
with enthusiasm. 

The very possibility of a scrap seemed to put the 
members of the crew into a good-natured frame of 
mind, and led to a bewildering interchange of fighting 
lore. Norman learned how “ Spike ” Melligan got a 
twist on ‘‘ Turkey-head ” Gates, and broke his arm 
when it looked as if “ Turkey-head ” had him whipped; 
how Stub ” Lee — “ stronger’n a moose ” — got a 

back holt ” on tall “ Stoop ” Duby and threw him 
clean over the big Franklin stove in the office of the 
Sunkhaze tavern ; how little Sim ” Holden — quick- 
er’n a weasel ” — held off a whole gang of Sullivan’s 
men, when they insisted on putting him out of the 
dance at Ripogenus Chutes for accidentally treading on 
the toes of his partner — big Sal Murry — with his 
spike-sole shoes, a mishap which they all knew of course 
to be entirely unintentional, and liable to happen to any 
gent.” How Sim on that historic occasion stood on 
his left leg, and, extending the sole of his right foot. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 15 


danced around so rapidly that th’ whole blame circle 
seemed one continuous bristle of steel calks; couldn't 
one of Sullivan’s men get a chance to break through,” 
and so had to let Sim stay and participate in the fes- 
tivities — these and many other episodes, some of 
them historical, and others breathing an atmosphere of 
fiction, whiled away the remainder of the afternoon’s 
journey. 

The shadows were beginning to lengthen when they 
finally reached the top of a high horseback. Pete 
stopped a moment to give his horses a breathing spell, 
and Norman improved the opportunity to enjoy the 
superb view afforded from the elevation, which enabled 
them to look down on the tops of majestic trees that 
lifted their tall crests on either side from the rich soil 
of the valleys. 

‘‘ We’re nearly to Hunt’s place,” announced Eustace, 
as the buckboard pitched down the further side of the 
horseback. 

A moment later they crossed a good-sized stream 
on a log bridge, above which was a dam and a chute — 
also built of logs— that were evidently used for driv- 
ing purposes. 

De Sebois reever,” announced Pete, waving his 
hand down the stream, whose waters, swollen to 
freshet pitch, ran full from bank to bank. 

A moment later, having climbed a short, steep hill, 
they drew up in front of a large building made of 
hewn logs. There was a long piazza running along 


i6 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the entire front and across one end. The floors of 
this and of the big office room which opened off from 
it, were deeply pitted and slivered from the impact of 
spike-soled shoes. The place had evidently been more 
or less of a resort for the log drivers who worked 
along the river. Rude plank benches extended around 
the office against the walls. In the center of the big 
room was a large Franklin stove in which a brisk 
fire was burning. The “ desk — made of unpainted 
boards — was near the partition in the back of the 
office through which a door led to the big dining-room. 
On the rear side of the office, a rough board stairway 
led to the loft above, where two long rows of double- 
decked bunks — one on either side of the great room, 
furnished sleeping accommodations for eighty men, 
and had oftentimes, Eustace stated, to be supplemented 
by beds upon the floor when the demands of the 
“ season '' made Hunt's place one of the busiest hos- 
telries on the road. 

“ He catches most of the toting business, both for 
the logging-camps and the drives," explained the boss. 
‘‘ Puts up men here from both the East Branch and 
the Allegash drives — sort of a half-way place. Some 
of 'em here now," he added in a lower tone, with a 
glance at half a dozen rugged-looking men in driver's 
garb, who, seated upon the office benches, were silently 
smoking their strong black pipes, and filling the room 
with the reek of many brands of tobacco. 

It was evident that they were studying the new- 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 17 


comers with interest, and reserving their judgments. 

Big Larry Hunt, smiling and affable, stood behind 
his wide counter and extended a hearty welcome to 
Eustace and his men. 

“ Glad to see you, Billy ! Glad to see you, boys I ” 
he exclaimed cordially. “ Was looking for you. Bar- 
ney O’Connor and his boys were here last night. 
They said you were coming.” 

“ Who have you got here ? ” asked Eustace, with 
a nod over his shoulder at the men on the benches. 

“ Allegash men. Some of Gusty Peters’s crew,” 
responded Hunt. “ I’m goin’ to let you have one o’ 
the small log sporting camps across the road, Billy. 
No one’s using ’em now. There’s a couple of good 
spring beds in there, big enough for four, and you can 
take in any one you want to.” 

“ I’m glad to get it,” said Eustace. “ Guess you 
and Fred and Felix better plan to come in with me,” 
he added to Norman Carver, who stood near him. 

Norman hastened to inform Fred and Felix, who 
were standing by the big stove, of this arrangement, 
with which both of them expressed their satisfaction. 

As Eustace turned to resume his conversation with 
Plunt, the door opened to admit a powerfully built 
man, whose huge bulk seemed to fill the entire room. 

‘‘ Gusty Peters ! ” announced Skinner in an under- 
tone to the group about the stove. There’s likely 
t’ be suthin’ doin’ when he’s round.” 

The newcomer was a man fully as tall as Black 


i8 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Jake Jasper, whom he probably exceeded in weight by 
fully fifty pounds. His features were big, and red, 
and coarse. An exceptionally large and bulbous nose 
formed their most striking characteristic. His dark 
eyes, small and round, looked out from under a beetling 
brow that was surmounted by a tangled shock of brick- 
red hair. His feet and hands were abnormally large, 
the latter when closed resembling a pair of hams. 

How’dy, Billy,” he exclaimed, catching sight of 
Eustace. 

His voice, a heavy bass, seemed to roll up from his 
toes like a peal of thunder, and Felix Lamarre, who 
saw him then for the first time, always asserted there- 
after that he distinctly felt it shake the foundations of 
the camp. 

‘‘ How’dy, Gusty,” responded Eustace, shaking the 
proffered hand of the big Allegash boss. Thought 
you were up on Eagle Lake.” 

“Not yet. I expect t’ be there day-after-to-morrow 
night though.” 

“ How's it lookin' ? ” 

“ Not over good. There's so little snow in the 
woods thet it looks to me like a hunt for water, long 
afore we reach th' St. John river. We'd be all right 
if we had what th' Lord intended we should.” 

“ That's an old story. Gusty,” returned Eustace, 
good-naturedly. “ All happened before you and I 
were born. You Allegash people always have water, 
in spite of your failure to build proper storage basins. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 19 


Look at all the dams the Penobscot East Branch 
Driving Company has built. Save every drop we can. 
Still if it wasn’t for the Chamberlain and Telos lake 
water we couldn’t count on flow enough to drive pick- 
poles.” 

“ Bosh, bosh, bosh ! ” retorted Peters, impatiently. 
‘‘ I’ve listened to thet tale o’ woe afore. Fact is, Natur 
gin them waters t’ the Allegash. The East Branch 
fellers stole ’em ’n’ hev’ used ’em for the past sixty 
years, but thet doesn’t give ’em any right to ’em — no, 
sir, not by a long chalk. There’s a day o’ reckonin’ 
cornin’, sure’s ye born.” 

“ Possibly,” responded Eustace, lightly, “ but thet 
doesn’t specially concern me. I’m not a stockholder 
in the log-driving company.” 

“ Sure not ; but you’re a-handlin’ of its interests, 
ain’t ye ? ” 

“ Yes, on Sebois waters, and while I’m in charge of 
them I intend to see thet they’re taken care of.” 

“Ye do — do ye?” sneered Peters. 

“ That’s what I do,” responded Eustace, firmly. 
“ That’s what I’m here for.” 

The jaws of the wiry Sebois boss came together like 
a trap, and there was a gleam of resentment in his 
gray eyes. In this mood Eustace was not a man to 
be trifled with. 

Peters was about to make a sharp reply, but was 
shut off by the call to supper, to which all the men 
in the office responded with alacrity. The Allegash 


20 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


boss, himself an enormous eater, knew the imperative 
nature of a woods appetite, and promptly followed his 
men. It had never been the practice of Gusty Peters 
to relieve himself of any valuable opinions in the 
absence of an audience. 

The two crews sat at separate tables on opposite sides 
of the room, and, as the Sebois men ate their suppers, 
they heard the loud, dominating voice of Gusty Peters 
telling his men how ‘‘ them East Branch fellers had 
stolen the waters of the Chamberlain and Telos lakes 
and diverted them into the East Branch. He forgot 
to state that this had happened sixty years before, and 
his ignorant followers, evidently looking upon it as a 
recent occurrence, denounced such conduct in most 
vigorous terms and with many oaths, of which they 
appeared to have an astounding assortment. 

‘‘ You’d ’a’ s’posed th’ hogs would ’a’ ben satisfied 
with thet,” roared Peters, but they wasn’t. What 
did they do next, but build a tramway between Eagle 
and Chamberlain lakes, and make up another drive out 
o’ logs grown in Allegash territory. Jest think of the 
nerve of it.” 

While it was evident that the men in either crew 
had but an imperfect conception of what Peters was 
talking about, it was apparent that there was some 
bone of contention, some long standing difference, 
between the operators on the East Branch, and those 
on the Allegash. 

When the members of the two crews made their 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 21 


way into the big office at the close of the meal, it was 
evident that there was a feeling of restraint between 
them that was little short of actual hostility, and which, 
on small pretext, could easily be made the excuse for 
a fight. 

There was a general filling of pipes among the 
smokers. The men sat upon the plank benches, the 
Sebois crew upon one side of the office and the Allegash 
crew upon the other, and eyed each other furtively. 
There was evidently a mental sizing up of forces. 

Presently the outside door opened and Black Jake 
Jasper limped into the room, pushing before him the 
man he had hauled upon his load. The toper glanced 
with bleary, uncertain eyes about the room, and sank 
upon one of the benches near the door, where he was 
speedily lost in drunken slumber. 

The members of Peters’s crew greeted the big team- 
ster with rough but hearty cordiality. 

Hurt ? ” demanded Gusty, laconically. 

Yes,” was the surly response. 

‘‘ How ? ” persisted Peters. 

‘‘ I’ve been done up,” explained Jake, in a voice 
hoarse with passion. “ Four agin one — the cowards! 
Thet feller spiked me while the others was a-holdin’ of 
me,” he added, pointing an accusing finger at Skinner. 

“ Didn’t hit me a sneakin’ crack an’ knock me into 
th’ bushes, did ye ? ” retorted Skinner, hotly. 

Gusty Peters turned a glowering face upon the men 
of Eustace’s crew. 


22 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ This ’ere needs lookin’ into,” he thundered. ‘‘ By 
th’ Jim Hill, I won’t allow ary one o’ my men t’ be 
picked upon by a flock of buzzards ! ” 

There was an ominous putting away of pipes on both 
sides of the room. The Allegash men gathered silently 
about Gusty Peters. 

“ Get against the wall,” said Eustace, in a low voice. 

That fellow has been aching for trouble, and I reckon 
he’s going to get it.” 

In a moment the plank bench upon which the Sebois 
men had been sitting was pushed into the room, and 
Eustace and his men were standing closely together 
behind it, with their backs against the log wall. 

“ Let out them two kids,” roared Gusty Peters. 
“ We don’t scrap with th’ cradle.” 

‘‘ Perhaps you’d better get out, boys,” said Eustace. 
“ I reckon we can take care of ourselves without you, 
and the fur is likely to fly here for a spell.” 

“ There’s agoin’ t’ be a hot time in th’ old town,” 
declared Long Tom Boggs, cheer fuly. 

“ I’ll stay right here,” declared Norman, indignantly. 

‘‘ And so will I,” said Fred Warner. 

“ All right, kids. Ye’ve hed yer chance,” growled 
Peters. “ Now thet’s th’ fust man we want,” he thun- 
dered, pointing a big hand at Jud Skinner. I know 
all about th’ cuss. Alius a-stirrin’ up trouble when 
he thinks things air his way. We got ye now where 
ye can’t run.” 

‘‘ Blow yer bugle, ole windbag,” retorted Skinner, 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 23 


insolently. “ I reckon I’m man enough for the likes 
of you.” 

Rush ’em ! Rush ’em ! ” roared Peters. ‘‘ Put th’ 
Allegash brand on thet ’ere gobbie.” 

There was a rush across the floor, followed by a 
quick stop. Behind the long bench in front of the 
Sebois men gleamed a bristling row of spike-soles. 
Only two or three of the Allegash men were provided 
as yet with the foot-gear of the drive. There was an 
abrupt pause, while the besiegers warily considered the 
situation. 

‘‘ Jus’ you com’ rat on. Mebbe you t’ink you mak’ 
us scare,” roared big Pete Bedotte. “ I smash me dat 
beeg nose on yo’ face.” 

“ No, you won’t,” declared Long Tom Boggs, coolly. 

Thet’s th’ plum I’m layin’ out t’ pick.” 

“ Work for the ends,” shouted Peters. “ You fellers 
with th’ spike-soles keep the ones in the center busy. 
We’ll pick this ’ere jam in jest about two seconds.” 

He attempted to work in on Skinner, who was 
between Bedotte and Boggs, but was held back by the 
bristling spikes in Long Tom’s right shoe. 

“ Come on, ole punkin face,” challenged the tall 
driver, with exasperating coolness. 

Peters, having, as he felt, maneuvered into position, 
made a quick side-smash at Boggs’ ankle with his 
ponderous fist. It was a blow that might easily have 
broken it had it landed; but Boggs was no novice. 
Quickly dropping his foot he shot out a clinched fist at 


24 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the end of a long arm, and gave Peters a terrific blow 
on the end of his big nose. It was a lightning clip 
and took the giant boss completely by surprise. He 
wheeled half round, and a spurt of blood ran down 
his face. Before he could recover himself the tall 
Yankee got in two other stinging blows that made 
him stagger. 

At this point Pete Bedotte, who had just slapped 
one of the Allegash men to the floor as if he had 
been a mosquito, pressed forward and hit the wavering 
Peters a heavy swinging blow beneath the ear. The 
big boss fell unconscious to the floor. Skinner dashed 
forward and would have leaped upon him with his 
spike-soled shoes; but Long Tom held him back. 

“ Play fair, partner,’’ he said, sharply. 

“ I reckon thet’s good advice,” admitted Skinner, 
sheepishly. I alius lose my head in a scrap.” 

The disabling of Gusty Peters was a wet blanket 
to the courage of his men. They still struggled on, 
but their resistance was brief. Pete Bedotte and Sol 
Soc got behind their line, and took them in the rear 
with swinging fists, while the rest of the Sebois men 
pressed them sharply on their front. The scrap was 
soon ended. The few Allegash men who were still 
in fighting condition, were hemmed in by a circle of 
wicked looking spike-soles, and begged lustily for 
quarter. It was some minutes before Gusty Peters 
recovered consciousness; but he was too dazed and 
dopy to make any further attempt at trouble, and soon 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 25 


stole away to bed, where he was speedily followed by 
the men of his crew. 

“ Did you get any reminders ? ” asked Eustace anx- 
iously of Norman when the fight was over. 

“Not a scar,” was the laughing rejoinder. “ Hos- 
tilities were so soon over that I really didn't have time 
to get into them.” 

“ And the rest of the boys appear to have come out 
in good shape,” continued Eustace, in a tone of relief. 
“ I see they've lighted up our sporting-camp,” he added. 
“ Reckon we’d better turn in.” 


CHAPTER III 


ATTEMPTED BURNING OF THE SPORTING-CAMP 

‘‘ This is something like.” 

Eustace, occupying the one chair in the room, spread 
out his hands to the fire, which roared in the small 
air-tight stove in the corner of the little one-room 
sporting-camp, and thus expressed his satisfaction with 
their new quarters. 

“No extra space to heat,” was the laughing response 
of Fred Warner, who, with Norman Carver, was seated 
on one of the two beds that occupied the little camp, 
and which so nearly filled it that only an eighteen-inch 
space was left between them. 

“ Ba gum ! I bat yo’ feefty cent it ban long tarn 
Tore we get ’noder chance for sleep on nice spreeng 
bed,” declared Felix Lamarre, who sat facing them 
on the opposite bed. 

“ I think you are perfectly safe in risking your money 
there, Felix,” responded Eustace. “Larry fixed this 
up for the nabobs. We fellows can play weTe sports 
to-night, but after that it will be fir feathers for the 
whole of us for some time to come.” 

“ We're lucky to be able to sleep anywhere, after 
that set-to,” declared Fred Warner. 

26 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 27 


‘‘ Right you are, Fred,’’ assented Eustace. “ I didn’t 
expect we’d come out so easily; but Gusty was the life 
of that gang, and when he was knocked out they wilted 
and quit. I’m thinking we drew a prize package when 
we got hold of Long Tom Boggs.” 

“Monjee! I rader keek me wit’ a mule, dan have 
heem whack hees knockle on top ma nose,” declared 
Felix. Still, good t’ing for dem. Dey keek de row; 
dey get de keckin’.” 

“ We’ll certainly have to put Long Tom in the class 
with Pete Bedotte and Sol Soc,” declared Fred. 

It’s a great trio,” admitted Eustace, with an accent 
of pride. 

What I’ve been trying to figure out is the cause of 
the trouble,” said Norman. “ I gathered from what 
passed between you and Peters that there was some 
trouble about the division of the waters between the 
East Branch and the Allegash operators.” 

It’s an old story,” said Eustace, reflectively, ‘‘ but 
one that keeps bobbing up every now and then, like a 
bad shilling, when you least expect it to. It’s true, as 
Gusty Peters said, that sixty years ago the waters of 
the Chamberlain and Telos lakes ran north into the 
Allegash river, a tributary of the St. John river. It 
therefore made the great timber preserves of that sec- 
tion dependent upon the Canadian province of New 
Brunswick for a market. The sawmills on the waters 
flowing into the St. John river were located at that 
time in the city of St. John. The Bangor and Aroos- 


28 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


took railroad was only a dream of the future then, and 
St. John, with its excellent harbor, was the only place 
on those waters that afforded facilities for transporting 
manufactured lumber to market. Its favorable location 
made it a city of sawmills, whose annual lumber output 
ran well up into the hundreds of millions.” 

Gass eet had hees hands on top 'mos’ eve'yt’ing,” 
commented Felix. 

‘‘ That’s what it did,” assented Eustace, “ and if the 
Canadian government had been wise, things might be 
the same now. It wasn’t satisfied, however, with get- 
ting all this Maine timber. It wanted some cash along 
with it; so it proceeded to put a good stiff tax on all 
logs driven on the St. John waters.” 

I should think that would have made the Maine 
operators hot,” said Fred Warner. 

** They were certainly a mad lot,” acquiesced Eus- 
tace. “ About that time a man named Swanson was 
operating around the head of Webster Lake. One of 
his roads ran across the southeast end of Telos Lake 
into Webster Lake, a distance of about a mile. There 
came some heavy rains that winter ’long the last of 
March and put the whole country afloat. Swanson 
noticed that water from Telos Lake was running down 
this piece of road into Webster Lake. That set him 
to thinking. It was evident that the waters of both 
Chamberlain and Telos Lakes were on the height of 
Maine’s lake country — being in fact some iioo feet 
above the level of the sea — and that it was about as 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 29 


easy for those waters to flow south as it was for them 
to flow north. These two bodies of water are con- 
nected by a wide, sluggish thoroughfare about three 
miles long which widens out near the center into a 
pond about a mile long, called Telosmis Lake.'’ 

There are no ponds in that county, I take it," said 
Norman. 

‘‘ Hundreds of them," responded Eustace ; “ but they 
have to be pretty small to escape figuring on the map 
as lakes." 

‘‘ Wat M’sieu Swanson heem do? " demanded Felix, 
impatient at the interruption. 

“ Why, he quietly told some of the Maine operators 
what he had discovered, and the next winter they got 
a charter to build a dam at the outlet of Chamberlain 
Lake. Feeling was running high against the Bluenoses 
then, and the lawmakers at Augusta were ready to give 
our Maine operators 'most anything they wanted." 

Norman looked puzzled. 

“ The Bluenoses ? " he questioned. 

“ Yes. That's what we Maine people call people 
from over the Canada line," explained Eustace. 

‘‘When did they build the dam?" asked Fred 
Warner. 

“ The very next summer. While it was going up, 
a crew of men shovelled out Swanson's old road. It 
didn't take long for the water to finish up the job 
when they put the dam to work. The current runs 
at a two-thirty gait through the canal." 


30 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ The change must have helped the East Branch 
people a great deal/’ suggested Norman. 

“ It would be hard to estimate how much it did for 
them/’ responded Eustace. It not only gave them 
control of the growth in a splendid timber section; but 
it also gave them all the waters of Chamberlain Lake 
and its tributaries to help them out with their drives.” 

“ De Canada fellaires dey keel dem dat hen w’at lay 
heem de gold goose egg,” remarked Felix. 

“ Sure,” assented Eustace. “ Twisted her head right 
off.” 

‘‘ I thought Peters said something about the East 
Branch people not being satisfied with all that; about 
their going after the lumber on the Eagle Lake waters,” 
said Norman. 

He did,” responded Eustace. You see the dis- 
tance between Eagle and Chamberlain lakes is very 
short. So the East Branch operators have built a 
tramway about three-quarters of a mile long, over 
which they can haul logs from Eagle Lake into the 
waters of Chamberlain, and so float them to market 
down the East Branch of the Penobscot. By aid of 
this tramway the operators are enabled to get together 
a late drive of pretty good dimensions.” 

The Allegash men don’t appear to be reconciled,” 
said Norman. 

“ Guess you’d think they were not,” responded Eus- 
tace, “ if you got Harry McMurray woke up on that 
subject once. He’s never worked anywhere except on 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 31 


St. John waters, while I have had more or less experi- 
ence on the Penobscot waters as well. Pve heard both 
sides. No doubt Nature gave the waters of the Cham- 
berlain Lake and its tributaries to the St. John, but 
having lost them more than sixty years ago, by their 
own grasping, it seems to me a little far-fetched for 
the people on these waters to make any complaint at 
this late day.^’ 

‘‘ Haven’t they tried to change it? ” demanded Fred 
Warner. 

“ Yes. They had the whole matter up before the 
Supreme Court of Maine, once,” responded Eustace, 
‘‘ but the court sustained the State charter on which 
the Chamberlain Lake dam was built. That settled it, 
so far at least as the legal question was concerned; 
but the Allegash men have never been satisfied, and 
claim that the question was not one to be finally settled 
by the Supreme Court of Maine inasmuch as the divert- 
ing of these waters was a violation of the Ashburton 
treaty. They growl about it a good deal — especially 
when a dry season makes driving a trifle hard. Pm 
free to say, however, that in my judgment the St. 
John’s system can spare th’ Chamberlain Lake waters 
to-day a great deal better than the Penobscot system 
could. In fact it would be mighty slow driving on 
the East Branch without them. Sleepy ? ” he added, 
as he caught Felix in the act of stifling a yawn. 

‘‘ Leetle bit,” admitted the Frenchman. 

“ Well, I guess we’d better turn in.” 


32 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


A few minutes later the lights were blown out, and 
the occupants of the little camp were soon fast asleep. 

It was in the early hours of the morning that Nor- 
man awoke with a choking sense of suffocation to find 
the camp filled with smoke. With a shout he roused 
his companions, and all made their way, dazed and 
coughing, out of doors. 

“ Reckon that stove pipe’s down,” gasped Eustace, 
as soon as he could command his voice. 

‘‘ No, it’s here behind the camp,” shouted Fred 
Warner, who had stepped from the end of the little 
piazza on a tour of investigation. 

Following his lead, the members of the party found 
a brisk brush fire blazing against the rear wall of the 
little camp and lighting up the clearing with its glare. 

‘‘ Quick ! ” shouted Eustace, taking in the situation 
at a glance. Get some of those poles from the wood- 
pile and sweep back that brush from the camp wall. 
Move lively, boys ! ” 

Norman, Fred, and Felix hastened to obey this order 
and in a short time were busily at work pulling and 
pushing the blazing brush away from the little camp. 
Meanwhile Eustace, securing an axe from the wood- 
pile, hastened to cut some heavy fir boughs from a 
near-by tree. 

“ Take these and we’ll beat it out,” he shouted, 
distributing them among his companions. “ You’ve 
got it well scattered and I think we can get the best 
of it.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 33 


At this moment a big shepherd dog belonging to 
Larry Hunt came bounding across the road, and, seeing 
the blaze, lifted up his voice in a series of frantic barks. 

This had an immediate effect. The men at the big 
camp speedily put in an appearance, in the half-dressed 
condition in which they had retired for the night. Some 
cut boughs and joined in beating out the flames, while 
others, securing pails, hastened to the river for water. 
In this good work the Allegash men joined heartily 
with the members of Eustace’s crew. If there was 
any feeling of resentment remaining from the scrap 
of the previous evening it was certainly not in evidence, 
and both crews fraternized heartily in the work of 
saving Larry Hunt’s property. Even Gusty Peters, 
having slept off the effects of battle, performed prodi- 
gies in the work of beating out the fire with a small 
fir tree which he cut for the purpose. In a short time 
the fire was extinguished, and the men of both crews 
returned to the big camp across the road in the best 
of spirits, and, to all appearances, in the best of fellow- 
ship. Only Larry Hunt lingered behind with Eustace 
and his companions. 

“ Whew ! A mighty close call that,” he exclaimed, 
wiping the great beads of perspiration from his face 
with his handkerchief. “ If that fire had got a little 
more of a headway, I see where I’d been minus a 
camp.” 

** It was fairly lively work while it lasted,” coincided 
Eustace. 


34 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘ It’s hard to explain,” continued Hunt. I knew 
there was a brush heap back here — meant to have 
cleared it away long ago; but I had no idea that it 
was within twenty feet of the camp.” 

We’re very attractive fellows,” returned Eustace, 
lightly. “ ’Most everything comes our way. Our fire 
must have sowed its sparks pretty well over the clear- 
ing.” 

I’m not satisfied with the looks of this thing, and 
I don’t believe you are,” exclaimed Hunt, with con- 
viction. 

‘‘ It doesn’t pay to make much talk about things you 
can’t prove,” rejoined Eustace. 

‘‘You think that fire was set, do you?” 

“ I haven’t any doubt of it.” 

“ Sapre ! I was t’ink I hear som’t’ing back dem 
camp, in de night!” exclaimed Felix, with a sudden 
burst of inspiration. “ I gass it ban wan leetle rabbit. 
I close me ma eye. I go on sleep.” 

“ I guess you heard a two-legged rabbit piling that 
brush against the camp,’^ said Eustace. 

“ Still the men all turned to, and helped put out the 
fire,” declared Hunt, in an incredulous tone. 

“ All but one,” asserted Norman. 

“Who was that?” 

“ Black Jake Jasper.” 

“ Sure as preachin’ ! ” exclaimed Eustace, in a tone 
of conviction. “ That sneak never came near us.” 

“ Perhaps he didn’t wake up,” suggested Hunt. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 35 


“ I guess if he was there he got his turn-out with 
th^ others when the boys found out what was going 
on/’ insisted Eustace. 

“ Wait here a minute. I’ll ask the boys about him,” 
said Hunt. 

The camp owner turned abruptly and hurried across 
the road to the big camp. 

Ba tonderre ! I don’ lak’ me for t’ink som’ fellaire 
wan’ roos’ me lak’ pork an’ bean,” said Felix, with a 
grimace. 

‘‘ It doesn’t make one feel over-comfortable, Felix,” 
agreed Eustace. “ Still there are those very kind of 
people in the world, and it looks as if one of ’em had 
been a-foul of us to-night. That brush pile never 
changed places without the help of hands.” 

“ I wish we knew who did it,” said Norman, indig- 
nantly. 

“ So do I,” responded Eustace; ‘‘ but I don’t imagine 
that it will be an easy thing to find out.” 

It was evident that he was not a little stirred up 
over what had happened. 

The party had barely gone back into the little camp, 
from which all traces of smoke were nearly gone, when 
the door opened to admit Larry Hunt. 

“ Black Jake isn’t there,” he announced, answering 
the looks of inquiry that greeted him. “ What’s more, 
none of the men remember to have seen him since 
supper.” 

“Where’s his brother?” demanded Eustace. 


36 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Up stairs in one of the bunks. Hasn’t slept off 
his dope yet.” 

Bring along your lantern, and let’s take a look at 
the horse hovels,” continued Eustace. 

Lantern in hand, the camp owner led the way to the 
long row of shed-roofed log buildings that were used 
for stable purposes. These were searched carefully, 
section by section, resulting in the discovery of the 
missing Jasper, wrapped in a horse blanket, and appar- 
ently fast asleep on a pile of hay in the space between 
two facing rows of stalls. 

“ Le’ me ’lone,” he muttered drowsily, as Hunt, 
stooping, shook him by the shoulder. 

“Wake up! Wake up there,” insisted Larry, shak- 
ing him roughly. 

The big teamster threw back his blanket and rose 
to a sitting posture. His small eyes blinked in the 
lantern light, as he glanced with a scowling face on 
those around him. 

“What ye want o’ me?” he snarled, angrily. 

“ What have you been doing out here ? ” demanded 
Larry Hunt, sharply. 

“ Bleepin’.” 

“Why didn’t you sleep with the men?” 

“ Couldn’t Stan’ their snorin’.” 

“ How do you know they snore? You haven’t been 
with them all night,” rejoined Hunt, impatiently. 

“ I’ve lived with Gusty Peters afore this,” retorted 
Black Jake, doggedly, “ an’ I know the tunes he plays 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 37 


on thet bugle o’ his — specially when it’s ben thumped. 
I tell ye I was tired an’ wanted t’ sleep.” 

“What have you got on your hands?” demanded 
Eustace. 

“ Thet’s none o’ your business,” was the surly 
response. 

“ An’ I guess it is,” asserted Eustace, with spirit. 

“ Better keep a civil tongue in your head an’ answer 
his questions,” admonished Larry Hunt. 

“ I reckon it’s wheel-grease,” declared Jasper. 

“ Looks more like pitch to me,” insisted Eustace. 

“ Shouldn’t wonder ’n’ there might be some,” admit- 
ted Jasper, coolly. “ Wouldn’t be at all surprisin’, 
seein’ es how I’ve carried a new fir bindin’-pole on my 
load all day.” 

“ That’s so,” admitted Eustace, recognizing the truth 
of this statement. 

“ Look here, Jake,” said Hunt, sternly, “ someone 
has tried to set fire to one of the small camps, and it 
looks to us as if you had about the best chance of 
anyone to do it.” 

“Do you mean t’ say I done it?” demanded Jake, 
in angry tones. 

“ Why didn’t you come and help put out the fire ? ” 
asked Hunt, avoiding the question. 

“ Didn’t know there was any. I tell ye I’d ’a’ ben 
asleep now, if ye hadn’t woke me up.” 

“ Any more questions ? ” asked Hunt, turning to 
Eustace. 


38 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘ I pass/’ was the dry response. 

The party returned in silence to the sporting camp. 
Eustace lingered on the piazza a moment with the 
camp owner, after the others had gone within. 

Larry Hunt held up his lantern so that its rays fell 
full in the face of the Sebois boss. 

‘‘Well?” he said, interrogatively. 

“ We know a good many things in this life, Larry, 
that we can’t prove,” said Eustace. “ Good night,” 
and, turning abruptly on his heel, he followed his com- 
panions into the camp. 



At the foot of the Pitch. — Page 38. 







CHAPTER IV 


THE TRIP TO SEBOIS GRAND LAKE 

They Ve shot the chutes ! ** exclaimed Eustace, as 
he and his companions came out of their sleeping quar- 
ters the next morning on their way to breakfast in the 
big camp. 

It was evident that the Sebois boss was not a little 
surprised and relieved. 

What makes you think that? ” demanded Norman. 

‘‘ Their buckboard’s gone.” 

Ba geenger, dat was ban so,” corroborated Felix. 

“ And the night it was filled with trouble, 

But the toughs that infested the day, 

They folded their tents like the Arabs, 

And silently stole away.” 

This bit of parody from Norman raised a laugh 
from his companions. 

That about sizes up the situation,” declared Eus- 
tace. 

‘‘Is it original?” inquired Fred Warner. 

“ In spots,” laughed Norman. “ I feel just a little 
guilty for butchering it that way.” 

“ If the boys suspect you of being a poet, they’ll 
keep you mighty busy,” said Eustace. “We had a 
39 


40 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


long-haired fellow on the drive last spring who could 
reel it off by the yard. It really had lots of jingle in 
it ; rhymed first-rate. He certainly did have a genuine 
gift.’’ 

‘‘ Don’t ever quote me as being a poet,” said Nor- 
man, in alarm. ** If you do. I’ll be sorry I ever opened 
my* mouth.” 

Oh, we won’t give you away,” agreed Eustace, 
“ though I suspect you could do a pretty smooth job 
if you were put to it.” 

Only the Sebois men were in the big office when 
they entered it. Larry Hunt was behind the counter 
fixing up the contents of a small mail pouch which 
would go out to Patten by a tote-team later in the day. 

** Lost your Allegash crew ? ” questioned Eustace. 

Yes. They asked if I could give ’em a 4.30 break- 
fast, and I allowed I could. Tell the truth, I wasn’t 
anxious to have them mix in with your fellows again. 
I was afraid something might drop.” 

Couldn’t ’a’ wasted much time on their grub,” 
commented Eustace. 

They didn’t,” admitted Hunt. ** They were all 
through and headed for Eagle Lake by ten minutes 
of five.” 

Soon after, having finished their breakfast, Eustace 
and his men were grouped on Pete Bedotte’s buck- 
board and making their way towards Snow-shoe Lake, 
which joined Sebois Grand Lake on the south. 

The road was even worse than the day before, and 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 41 


most of the men were glad to walk on ahead of the 
buckboard. Norman, determined to learn all he could 
before reaching the main camp, kept along with Eus- 
tace somewhat in the rear of the others. 

I^m going to have a couple of batteaux meet us 
at the foot of Snow-shoe Lake, and let Pete go back 
with his team,’’ said the boss. ‘‘We shall have to 
carry around the dam at the foot of Grand Lake; but 
that’s better than to try toting up there by team at 
this time of year.” 

“ Is this the principal part of the East Branch 
drive?” asked Norman. 

“ No, indeed ! ” returned Eustace. “ There will be 
about 40,000,000 feet of logs driven down the East 
Branch this spring, which will be about 20,000,000 shy 
of last year’s drive. Of this total only about 6,000,000 
will come from Sebois waters.” 

“Is it all for lumber?” 

“ No. The Katahdin Pulp and Paper Company cuts 
considerable timber on East Branch waters. They will 
have about five million and a half in this year’s drive.” 

“Does all this go down together?” inquired Nor- 
man. 

“ Yes, it’s all handled by the Penobscot East Branch 
Log Driving Company — the fellows we are working 
for.” 

“ How many different concerns will be represented 
in this year’s drive?” asked Norman. 

“ I should say about a dozen,” returned Eustace. 


42 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ How do they get the logs that belong to them ? 
persisted Norman. 

“ They are all sorted in the big booms,” explained 
Eustace. ** Every log carries the special mark of its 
owner, and the experienced workers on the booms have 
no difficulty in recognizing them. A boom, you know, 
is a chain of logs fastened together at the ends which 
stretches from shore to shore, or from the shore to 
some pier or island in midstream. In either event it 
forms a barrier which keeps the logs from floating past 
until they have been sorted.” 

Do all these logs go down the East Branch at the 
same time ? ” 

“ No. You might say that the East Branch drive 
is made up really of three separate drives. The logs 
cut on Grand Lake and its waters make up the first 
drive, which if the ice went out yesterday as I expect 
it did, is already on its way. The second drive will 
start about June fifth, and is made up of the timber 
cut on Chamberlain Lake and the waters between it 
and Grand Lake. That’s the drive we join. I expect 
to start our drive day after to-morrow. May fifteenth, 
and get into the East Branch middle drive in from 
thirty to thirty-five days. That would bring us there 
between June twentieth to twenty-fifth. The distance 
from our big landing at the head of Sebois Grand Lake 
to the East Branch is about thirty-five miles.” 

“ Then you plan to make about a mile a day ? ” 
That’s about as well as we can hope to do,” said 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 43 


Eustace. ‘‘We shall have more or less logs to drive 
out of the ^ small streams and brooks along the way — 
and then there are better waters to drive than those of 
the Sebois river.’' 

“Are there two Grand Lakes?” 

“ Yes. There’s Grand Lake, that’s on the East 
Branch waters, and Sebois Grand Lake, that’s on the 
Sebois waters.” 

“ Where do the East Branch drivers finish ? ” 

“ At Greenbush, the main booms on the Penobscot, 
just above Old Town.” 

“ I hope I can go clear through,” declared Norman. 

“ I hope you can. I’m sure,” responded Eustace, 
cordially - “ but perhaps you’ll not be so enthusiastic 
by the time we’re out of the Sebois.” 

“ I’m very sure I shall,” declared Norman, in a tone 
of conviction. 

“ I hope you will,” returned Eustace, dubiously. 

At noon the party stopped on the top of a moss- 
grown ridge, on the south slope of which a beautiful 
boiling spring afforded an abundance of pure water. 
The horses were taken from the buckboard, and their 
bridles removed. They were then tied to some trees 
and given a generous “ bait ” of hay and oats. A 
roaring fire was made, over which Felix Lamarre and 
Fred Warner speedily prepared a rough but appetizing 
meal for the hungry men who, sitting about on some 
logs that had been cut to serve as improvised deacon 
seats, showed their appreciation of it in a most prac- 


44 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


tical way. To Norman, in all the keen zest of a woods 
appetite, it tasted better than the most elaborate meal 
he had ever eaten at home, and was a repast long to 
be remembered. 

The men were already fraternizing with the rough 
fellowship of the woods, and spiced their meal with a 
boisterous interchange of rough chaffing that passed 
for jokes, and with bits of personal experience in log- 
ging-camps, and on the drives. 

‘‘Mind thet man Smithers?” demanded Long Tom 
Boggs, pausing a moment in the act of carrying a cup 
of steaming tea to his mouth. 

“ Sure!’’ 

“ Knew ’im well.” 

“ Bat yo’ life,” came in quick response from various 
members of the crew. 

“ He was a great white water man,” asserted Boggs, 
aggressively. 

“ Limber es an eel,” agreed Jud Skinner. “ I drove 
with ’im one year over on th’ Allegash.” 

“ I’ve beared es how he rid a log through th’ Hullin’ 
Machine,” continued Boggs. 

“ Ya-as. Seeum do it” declared Sol Soc. 

“ Guess there’s no doubt on it,” corroborated Skin- 
ner. “ All th’ members o’ thet crew swear to it, but 
I swan I don’t see how it was possible.” 

“ Fact,” assented Long Tom; “ but there’s many the 
time on th’ drive thet I’ve looked back on th’ places 
where th’ boys hev come through on logs, an’ in th’ 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 45 


boats, 'n’ wondered as how in th’ world it ever could 
’a’ happened.’* 

It’s surprising what places a good driver can pull 
through with a whole skin,” declared Eustace. “ I 
surmise that old Soc’ll make you all go some this drive. 
There’s mighty few men who would dare to follow 
him in a batteau, and he can do a fair turn on the 
logs.” 

The men nodded their approval of this statement. 

Ugh ! ” grunted the Indian. All takum chance 
on dribe.” 

You were with Smithers when he was killed. I’ve 
hearn tell,” said Skinner. 

‘‘ Ya-as. He drinkum rum. Go wit’ me cut key- 
log ver’ bad jam on Jule ledge. Dem logs she ban all 
hung up dere. Chopum half log. Jam break. I run. 
Get shore. Big log end over knock Smit’er in white 
water. She go over falls. Ben drownded. Dat all.” 

“ They didn’t find his body until it floated into the 
main boom a month later,” declared Skinner. 

“ A man wants a clear head when he’s working on 
the logs,” said Eustace. “ It’s a good plan for men 
on the drive to let rum alone, and I’ve found that I 
can get along better to cut it out altogether.” 

“ They tell me this man Barney O’Connor is a 
mighty nervy, trappy driver,” said Boggs. 

That’s just what he is,” assented Eustace. You 
may rest sure that I’ll never ask any one of you to 
go where he doesn’t dare to.’ 


46 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


It was about an hour after the party resumed its 
journey when it came to the dam at the foot of Sebois 
Grand Lake. The ring of axes and the shout of voices 
had announced the presence of O’Connor and his men, 
some time in advance. 

“ Arrah ! It’s mighty glad I am to see yez,” declared 
Barney O’Connor heartily as he came forward to shake 
hands with Eustace, as Pete Bedotte drew up his horses. 

Norman looked at the young Irishman curiously and 
was forced to admit that he measured up in his physical 
characteristics, to his reputation as a skilful and daring 
waterman. He was nearly six feet tall, and straight 
as an arrow. His eyes were a clear blue, and carried 
the suggestion of a smile. His face, naturally light- 
skinned, was browned and weather-beaten by exposure. 
His hands, long of finger and firm of grasp, were 
calloused from hard work. O’Connor was still a young 
man, but little past thirty, and yet stories of his daring 
exploits were current among all .the drivers on the 
Penobscot and Allegash waters. Eustace counted him- 
self fortunate to have him in his crew. 

O’Connor’s very presence radiated an atmosphere of 
good-fellowship, and as Norman shook hands with him, 
in response to the introduction of Eustace, he felt that 
he should number him among his friends. 

“ I hov thim boats jist forninst the dam,” announced 
O’Connor, when he had briefly passed the time of day. 
“ Do yez want any av me byes to hilp yez load your 
dunnage ? ” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 47 


No. WeVe crew enough for that,” responded 
Eustace. “ How much longer will it take to finish 
this dam ? ” 

“ Begorra, wid your min to hilp, Oi’m a-thinkin’ 
we’ll be afther makin’ it look moighty sick by to-mor- 
row noight.” 

‘‘ Just what I was planning on,” said Eustace, well 
pleased. ‘‘ Begin breaking in that landing day after 
to-morrow, can’t we ? ” 

“ Sure it’s not me thot sees onything to prevint.” 

“ That’s what we’ll do,” declared Eustace, with 
emphasis. I don’t want to waste an hour, Barney,” 
he added. “ We can’t count on this pitch of water 
for any great length of time and we must make the 
most of it while it lasts, especially in getting out the 
brook drives.” 

‘‘ Thot’s what,” assented O’Connor. 

The men began lugging their dunnage and the other 
things on the buckboard up a winding hillside path 
that led through the bushes, to the lake above the 
dam, where three large batteaux, the flaring boats used 
in river driving, were drawn upon the shore. 

It’s roight glad Oi am to be seein’ ye,” said 
O’Connor, giving Felix Lamarre a slap on the shoul- 
der. We’ve been a-drafting our cooks since we left 
Hunt’s, an’ it’s not wan proize thot we’ve drawn.” 

I bat yo’ I feex yo’ out for nice t’ing for eat,” 
declared Felix, affably, well pleased at the Irishman’s 
compliment. 


48 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


The cook entered the boat and began packing away 
his dunnage, his face wreathed in smiles. 

‘‘ Ah, Barney, the blarney ! I see where the rest of 
us take the leavin’s,'’ said Jud Skinner, who had reached 
the boat in time to overhear O’Connor’s remarks. 

‘‘ A little palaver is a foine currency, Jud, me 
bye,” replied the Irishman, good-naturedly, “ but Oi’m 
thinkin’ it’s moighty little ye’ll iver be buyin’ wid it.” 

With four men at the oars, a bowman and a steers- 
man, two of the boats were soon manned and on their 
way to the camp, the third remaining for the use of 
O’Connor and his crew when they finished their day’s 
work on the dam. 

Norman, who pulled a long oar opposite Fred War- 
ner, soon caught the knack of it and acquitted himself 
with credit. The sun was nearing the horizon when 
they finally ran their boats up the gently sloping, sandy 
shore in front of the camp. 

The little clearing was evidently an old one. Tree 
stumps had disappeared and the ground was carpeted 
with green grass nearly down to the water’s edge. In 
the background was a more or less open growth of 
white birch and fir-trees. 

Two big open-front tents of the lean-to order stood 
end to end about sixty yards back from the shore. 
A little way to the right were two other smaller tents, 
one of which was evidently the special storehouse for 
camp supplies, and the other, the domicile of the cook. 
In front of one of these tents a bright fire was burning, 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 49 


over which a big iron kettle, strung on a pole the ends 
of which rested on crotched sticks, was boiling briskly. 

The big tents were of the crudest character. Two 
large crotched sticks were driven into the ground some 
distance apart. These supported a stout, horizontal 
pole. Against this pole at intervals rested the ends 
of the other poles which, slanting backward at right 
angles to it, with their opposite ends upon the ground, 
formed a rude, shed-like framework. Over this was 
spread a heavy canvas which closed in the roof and 
ends, leaving the entire front open to the weather. 
A short distance in front of the rear walls of these 
tents, logs about six inches in diameter extended, upon 
the ground, from end to end of the enclosures. Behind 
these logs and extending to the rear walls of the tents, 
were the fir-bough beds, breathing aromatic odors, and 
so laid as to secure the greatest amount of comfort. 
These boughs were covered with heavy gray blankets, 
and upon them, lying side by side, with their feet to 
the blazing fires in front of the tents, the men secured 
that dreamless sleep that comes to tired, healthy bodies. 

The nights were cold in that section, even well into 
the summer, and the big camp fires, extending clear 
across the tent fronts, were kept burning through the 
night. 

‘‘ Well, what do you think of it ? ” asked Eustace, 
when Norman had finished his inspection. 

‘‘ It’s great.” 

‘‘ Rather a good camping place I think myself. 


50 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


We’ll sleep on many a worse one before we reach the 
East Branch. There’s one of the finest springs of 
water in Maine on the lake shore there, about a 
hundred feet back of the wangan.” 

A big, tall man, with slightly stooping shoulders, 
came out of the cook’s tent. 

“ Hooray ! Ba golly, I ban glad for see yo’,” he 
said, with enthusiasm, catching sight of Felix. 

“ Bonjour, Joe,” said Lamarre, cordially. W’at 
yo’ ban do ? ” 

Dey tole me I ban cook on top dees place,” was 
the disgusted response. “Joe Landre cook! Sapre 
diable!” 

“ W’at yo’ cook? ” asked Felix, nodding towards the 
steaming kettle. 

“ Som’ swogan stew I ” 

“ I feex heem. Put som’ dough-boy on top heem,” 
said Felix, who, in a few minutes, was in full charge 
of the cook’s camp. Big tins of light-looking cream 
of tartar biscuits were soon cooking in a big Dutch 
oven before the fire, while Joe was running a big fire 
in the bean hole to accumulate the red-hot coals neces- 
sary to the night’s baking. 

As the darkness came on the big fires in front of 
the men’s camp were started, sending long streamers 
of light across the dark waters of the lake, and throw- 
ing the sombre forest background into deeper shadow. 

Down the lake came the rhythmic dip of oars, and 
the singing voices of men. Presently another batteau 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 51 


was drawn up on the sandy beach, while O’Connor and 
his men joined the others of the crew in strenuous 
toilets at the lake shore. A little later the men sat 
around on logs and packing boxes in the ruddy glare 
of the firelight, eating from tin dishes the hearty supper 
which Felix Lamarre had prepared for them, and wash- 
ing it down with dippers of strong tea. 

It was evident to Norman that there would be no 
setting of tables on the drive. 

“You and Fred may sleep next to me on the further 
end of that second tent,” said Eustace to Norman as, 
with tin plate and dipper of tea in hand, he took a seat 
on the same log with him. “ It may bother you a 
spell, but, when you get waywised a bit, you’ll like it. 
They all do.” 

There was a general resort to pipes after supper. 
Some stories were told; a few snatches of song were 
sung, and then one by one the men sought their beds. 
By half-past eight the last man had turned in, and the 
silence of the wilderness brooded over the camp. 


CHAPTER V 


’POLEON CARON's WINDIGO 

It was a new experience for Norman, radically dif- 
ferent from anything he had undergone in the logging- 
camp at Quadrate Lake. 

It should be explained here, for the benefit of those 
who may not have read “ All Among the Loggers,” 
the first volume of this series, that Quadrate Lake was 
a large body of water located in the Northern Maine 
wilderness. LFpon its shores the Lakeland Lumber 
Company, which conducted large timber operations in 
that section, had a set of log camps which constituted 
the winter home of one of its logging-crews. 

To this place, Norman Carver, the only son of Gen- 
eral Carver, a leading Boston attorney and one of the 
stockholders in the Lakeland Company, had been sent 
the winter prior to the opening of this story to act as 
clerk of the crew. While in no sense a vicious boy, 
he had nevertheless formed some acquaintances that 
were not to his father’s liking. In a spirit of thought- 
less mischief he had joined with some of them in 
breaking into the home of a collector of antiques and 
securing a suit of ancient armor, which they used to 
decorate the statue of the founder of their school. 


52 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 53 


Although Norman escaped what might easily have 
been very serious results of this escapade, General 
Carver decided to send him into the Maine woods to 
act as clerk of the logging-crew at Quadrate Lake, in 
the belief that the experience would be a valuable one 
for the boy. He was impelled the more to this course 
from the fact that Norman's mother was dead, and his 
own busy professional duties engrossed the larger part 
of his time. 

It was a new life, full of strange scenes and experi- 
ences for Norman, accustomed only to the associations 
of a big city, but he entered upon it with a determina- 
tion to make good — and succeeded. 

At Quadrate Lake he formed a warm friendship 
with Fred Warner, a boy of about his age, who was 
acting as cookee, or cook’s assistant. He was a fine, 
manly young fellow, who had enjoyed few of the 
advantages which had been enjoyed by Norman. His 
mother was a widow with three children younger than 
himself, living on a farm which had been partially 
cleared by her husband before his death. As the eldest 
of the family, Fred had been obliged to work very 
hard to assist her in securing a livelihood, and in 
keeping the younger children in school. 

Norman not only mastered the duties of his position, 
but was also successful in winning the friendship of 
the rough but kind-hearted men who made up the log- 
ging-crew. He came to have a warm affection for 
the rugged characters about him. Jim Benner, an 


54 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


old-time logger, Big Pete Bedotte, a gigantic French 
teamster, Felix Lamarre, the capable camp cook, Jud 
Skinner, a typical Yankee woodsman, Sol Soc, an Old 
Town Indian of powerful build, whose life Norman 
saved, thereby winning his enduring gratitude, and 
Billy Eustace, the energetic camp boss, were among 
those with whom he was brought most in contact, and 
for whom he formed a specially close and warm attach- 
ment. 

Too much space would be required to review in 
detail the adventures that befell Norman during his 
winter in camp. His detention in a sporting camp by 
one “ Clouter Kelty,^^ a notorious outlaw, who later 
came to a tragic death — these and many other things 
are told at length in the first volume of this series. 

At the close of the winter’s logging operations he 
was invited by Billy Eustace to act as clerk of the 
drive on the Sebois river, a tributary of the East 
Branch of the Penobscot. As Eustace was to have 
personal charge of the drive, Norman was very anxious 
to go with him, and after some persuasion was suc- 
cessful in securing his father’s consent. It was thus 
that he came amid the scenes and associations in which 
the reader now finds him. 

He found it impossible to sleep and lay upon his 
fragrant bed of balsam fir with half-open eyes, keenly 
yet restfully conscious of the various noises that came 
from the lake surface, and the shadowy background 
of forest. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 55 


Moist, woodsy odors filled the air. A light wind 
swayed the tree-tops and made them vocal with a 
thousand voices. With monotonous regularity came 
the lap of waters upon the sandy beach. To Norman’s 
senses, preternaturally alert, they seemed to carry a 
distinct note of melancholy. Perhaps they were sing- 
ing a dirge for some lost knight of spike-sole shoes! 
Perhaps it was the spirit of the vanishing forest breath- 
ing its mournful cadence through the waters! 

What nonsense! Norman aroused himself from this 
spirit of lazy reverie with an effort. Never before 
had he found it so deliciously easy to soar away into 
the realm of imagination; never before had Mother 
Nature been so rich in suggestions, that came rushing, 
tumbling, crowding out of a drowsy, shadowy back- 
ground to project themselves upon his consciousness. 
Far down the lake came a wild, weird cry that made 
Norman’s flesh creep. It seemed like the last despair- 
ing wail of a lost spirit, ending in a harrowing, blood- 
curdling bust of maniac laughter. 

A loon,” explained Fred Warner’s sleepy voice. 

Norman was relieved. He would have been glad 
to have talked further with Fred, but the measured 
breathing of the cookee showed that he was already 
fast asleep again, leaving Norman once more in undis- 
puted possession of the night and its voices. 

The flickering camp fires bored pathways of light 
across the dark waters of the lake along which troupes 
of dancing sprites held merry carnival. 


56 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


There was a movement in the other sleeping tent. 

The form of a man showed indistinctly in the fire- 
glow for a moment, and vanished. Presently he reap- 
peared, his arms full of wood, and replenished the big 
fires, which were beginning to burn low. In the light 
of the new flames that rewarded his efforts, Norman 
recognized the good-natured face of Barney O’Connor. 

There was a general shifting of positions among the 
sleepers, a few yawns, and once more the men of the 
crew were lost in the oblivion of slumber. 

As Norman watched the fantastic shadows dance 
and play upon the waters of the lake, a magnificent 
buck deer, with beautiful antlers, came into view around 
a clump of alder bushes on the lake shore, and stood 
fully revealed in the firelight, like a ghost of the night. 

For a moment the superb creature stood alert and 
listening, then, reassured, he waded a short distance 
into the lake, and drank greedily of its cold waters. 

Having finished his potations he turned quietly to 
the shore again, and disappeared from view in the 
alder bushes as silently as he had come. 

Norman felt himself beginning to grow drowsy. 
Several times he nodded on the borderland, and was 
on the point of dropping fast asleep when a new and 
terrifying vision opened his eyes to their fullest extent, 
sent the quick blood tingling through his veins, and 
made him wide awake. 

Slowly walking across the camp front, in the space 
between the fires and the lake shore, was the white- 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 57 


robed figure of an old man, bent and decrepit. Coarse 
light hair fell, in a waving mass, down his shoulders. 
A heavy beard of the same color covered his face, and 
flowed down his chest. He carried a long staff, and 
moved with slow and solemn tread. 

For a moment Norman rubbed his eyes, in amaze- 
ment, confident that his imagination was playing him 
some trick. There was no mistake about it, however. 
The old man was a reality, and not a dream. 

Norman felt the cold shivers run down his back. 
There was something uncanny in this apparition. He 
determined, however, to feign sleep, and watch it out. 

Slowly the ancient night prowler made his way down 
the front of the camps, then, turning, retraced his steps 
with the same measured tread. 

As he neared the upper end of the right hand camp, 
where Norman had first seen him, a man appeared 
stretching and yawning at the front of the big tent, 
for the evident purpose of replenishing the fire which 
was beginning to burn low. 

He stopped short, as if he had been turned to stone, 
when his eyes rested upon the old man. His mouth 
was open, his face chalky white, and his eyes were big 
with fear. Never before had Norman looked upon 
such a picture of abject terror. 

The ancient pilgrim paused in his solemn march and 
slowly pointed at the frightened man a long forefinger, 
which glowed in the shadow like a coal of fire. 

This act operated upon its unhappy victim like an 


58 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


electric shock. Turning swiftly he made a wild leap 
back into the camp. At the same time he recovered 
his voice. 

‘‘ O Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu ! he shrieked, in ago- 
nized tones. 

In a moment the camps were stirring with life and 
animation, as the startled members of the crew jumped 
to their feet and crowded about the frenzied man. 

What’s up ? W’at de troub’ on yo’ ? W’y for 
yo’ holler so?” they questioned in chorus, but the 
terrified man continued to jump up and down, giving 
vent to a series of disjointed and incoherent yells. 

Norman looked for the old man, but he had dis- 
appeared. His first impulse was to explain the French- 
man’s panic by telling what he had seen ; but a feeling 
of caution restrained him. He was not a believer in 
the supernatural. There must be some reasonable 
explanation to this seeming mystery, and he resolved 
to spare no effort to discover it. 

Meanwhile the unhappy Frenchman was still howl- 
ing, in a paroxysm of fear — unable to give any 
explanation of his condition to the eager men about 
him. 

“ Come on out o’ yer trance, ye spalpeen,” roared 
Barney O’Connor, seizing him by both shoulders, and 
shaking him as a terrier would a rat. What ye ben 
dramin’ ? ” 

“ De Windigo ! De Windigo ! ” gasped the French- 
man, in accents of horror. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 59 

Some of the crew looked upon him with startled 
faces. 

“ Go way wid ye ! returned O’Connor, scornfully. 
“ Shure the sperit o’ the wind is not abroad this noight, 
ye spalpeen. Wake up wid ye! It’s along the Devil’s 
way yes ben dramin’.” 

‘‘ Sapre diable ! It ban no dream I tole for you,” 
protested the Frenchman. ‘‘ I see heem on ma eye. 
He walk heem behin’ dat fire — white dress, beeg pole 
een hees hand. Hees hair all long ; beeg beard on hees 
front. Hees eye, wan, two, mebbe trois, coal fire. 
He point heem ver’ long feenger on me. Ba cripe! 
I tole you it ban wan firebrand. Eet scratch me on 
ma breath. O Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu 1 ” he added, his 
voice rising in a shrill crescendo of apprehension. “ De 
Windigo com’. He put hees mark on ’Poleon Caron. 
I ban dead man for sure I ” 

“ Go way wid ye,” shouted O’Connor, in tones of 
disgust. “ I’ll be bettin’ you a tin-dollar bill thot it’s 
all the rist of us ye’ll outlive. Drop ye noightmare 
and go back ter bed. Shure, it’s ashamed ye should 
be ter wake us all up and spile our slape.” 

I tole yo’ it ban me no dream,” protested Caron, 
doggedly. It ban de Windigo. I seen him rat on 
ma eye.” 

It was evident, however, that the men had accepted 
O’Connor’s version of the situation. They were con- 
vinced that Caron had been the victim of a bad dream. 
While they were not without a rough sympathy for 


6o WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


him in his unhappy experience, still they could not 
help chaffing him a little as they went back to their 
beds again. 

“ I don’t just like the looks of this thing,” said 
Eustace to Norman, as he pulled his blanket over him. 
‘‘ Lots of these fellows are mighty superstitious. If 
they should get a notion into their fool heads that some 
spook or other was gunning for them, there’d simply 
be no holding them. They’d clear out like a flock of 
sheep, and I haven’t a man to spare. Got to have 
more, rather than less.” 

Do you think he really saw something ? ” asked 
Norman. 

‘‘ I’ve no doubt he did,” was the whispered response. 

It’s well enough to let it go Barney’s way, but it 
looks to me as if some of the boys had been stringing 
him a little. I never saw a man frightened that way 
by a dream.” 

Norman’s lying-awake mood was passed, and in a 
few minutes he was as sound asleep as any of the crew. 
He was awakened about three o’clock in the morning 
by Fred Warner crawling out from under the blanket. 

“ What’s up ? ” he whispered. 

“ Time for Felix and me to go to work,” returned 
Fred. “ You can sleep a spell longer.” 

“What are the hours, anyway?” 

“ From dawn to darkness on the drive,” returned 
Warner. “We have four meals a day and work as 
long as we can see.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 6i 


What do they do Sundays ? ” 

“ There are no Sundays or holidays on the drive. 
It^s pretty much all work,” responded Fred. 

It seemed to Norman that he had barely fallen to 
sleep again, after Warner had left him, when he was 
awakened by the shrill voice of Felix Lamarre. 

“ Turn-ou-ou-ou-t ! Tea all hot. Bean on plate.” 

That last part is a special frill with Felix,” said 
Eustace, with a laugh. 

‘‘ I thought Fred called the men,” said Norman. 

He does, most of the time,” was the response, 
** but sometimes it falls to Felix. I reckon Fred’s 
lugging water.” 

“ That’s so,” said Norman, glancing towards the 
cook’s camp, where Warner was just putting in an 
appearance with a brimming pail of water in each 
hand. 

With a cake of soap and a towel in his hand Norman 
followed Eustace to the lake, where he enjoyed a wash- 
ing up in its cold waters, a tin wash basin on a cracker 
box being the only accessory furnished by the camp. 
Fortunately Norman, through the advice of Eustace, 
had come provided with a pocket comb and a small 
hand mirror. 

The sun was only a crescent face above the eastern 
tree-tops when Norman seated himself beside Eustace 
on a log, with his plate of hot beans, and a dipper of 
steaming tea. 

What do you want me to do? ” he asked. 


62 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


** You will take charge of the wangan. It's in the 
tent to rear of the cook’s tent,” returned the boss, 
“ and also keep the time books, and the supply accounts. 
Barney will have charge of the repairs on the dam 
to-day, and I’ll stop a spell and get you started. After 
you come to know the men it will be easy enough. 
Of course you’ll go along with the cook’s batteau, and 
keep a general oversight of your interests in it.” 

“ It doesn’t look as if this job would be as hard as 
the one I had at Quadrate Lake,” declared Norman. 

“It won’t in itself; but as you’ll be expected to 
make yourself generally useful, I reckon you’ll find 
work enough to keep you out of mischief. Hello! 
Sol’s breaking in the landing,” he added, as a burst 
of laughter came from the men of the crew. 

Norman glanced at the lake where, a short distance 
from the shore, Sol Soc was coolly making his way 
on a log, which he deftly propelled with a paddle. 
Norman could but admire the unconscious ease and 
grace with which he navigated his uncertain craft. 

“ He’s going to challenge the boys to a birling 
match,” said Eustace. 

Even as he spoke Sol was turning the log, which 
he presently ran upon the shore. 

“ Gotum good man ? ” he grunted, as he looked at 
the crew. 

Barney O’Connor rose and laid aside his plate. 
“ Hold on! ” shouted Long Tom Boggs, who had also 
risen. “ Let me have him this time. It will be time 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 63 

enough for you when he's tired out some of us small 
fry." 

“ Go on, and good luck to ye," returned Barney, 
good-naturedly. “ I suspict ye'll be able for t' give 
him a foine run for his money." 

‘‘ Go in ! Do him up ! " shouted the men. 

Boggs stepped lightly upon the end of the log which 
rested against the shore. He pushed it out into the 
lake with the paddle which Sol passed him, and which, 
having thus used, he threw ashore. He turned and 
faced his competitor with a look of challenge in his 
eyes. The crew with boisterous enthusiasm urged him 
to battle. 

Watch him sharp!" 

“ Keep heem on yo' eye ! " 

Look out for his snub ! " 

‘‘ Hoe in, old boy, hoe in ! " were a few of the 
admonitions that were hurled after him by his noisy 
partisans. 

It was distinctly a contest of drivers' skill in the 
art of balance, and the use of spike-sole shoes. The 
Indian eyed his opponent warily for a moment and 
then began to tread round and round the log, making 
it rotate with constantly greater and greater speed as 
he increased his pace. Boggs, narrowly watching his 
every move, kept careful pace with him until the log 
on which they stood went whirling around in the water 
like a mill wheel. 

Suddenly the Indian changed his tactics. Jumping 


64 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


his spike-soles into the log, he threw his weight on the 
opposite side from which it was rolling. The snub ’’ 
was so sudden that it nearly sent Boggs into the lake. 
For a moment the tall driver tottered uncertainly, but, 
with a mighty effort, regained his equilibrium amid the 
hilarious shouts of his supporters on the shore. 

“ Good,’' grunted the Indian approvingly, well 
pleased to find that he had a competitor worthy of 
his mettle. 

“ I was nigh bein’ your meat thet time,” admitted 
Boggs, good-naturedly. 

“ All leady,” said the Indian. Me playin’ fair.” 

Again he raced madly about the log, the nimble 
Boggs keeping close pace with him. 

Presently, with a quick jump, the Indian faced about 
and arresting the motion of the log set it rolling in 
the opposite direction; but this time Boggs chased him 
closely enough to catch and follow the change of move- 
ment. 

‘‘ Ugh 1 Good man ! ” complimented the Indian. 

Hooraw!” 

‘‘Hang to ’im, Tom!” 

“ You geeve heem good duckin’.” 

With these, and other shouts of approval, the men on 
the shore voiced their appreciation of Boggs’ prowess. 

The Indian now began a new series of tactics, rush- 
ing the log madly about under his spike-soles for a 
time, and then suddenly jumping his spikes well into 
either side, and rocking it violently back and forth. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 65 


‘‘ Thot’s an ould dodge, Tom ! Lay for him, me 
bye ! shouted Barney O’Connor ; but Boggs was 
plainly losing ground. His breath was coming hard 
and fast, and it was evident that he was no match for 
the Indian, who was just warming up to his best work. 
One more birl, a quick snub, and Boggs went sliding 
into the cold waters of the lake, amid the uproarious 
laughter of the crew. 

It’s to worruk now or I’d be afther givin’ ye a 
dig mesilf,” shouted O’Connor to the victor. “ It’s 
out we’ll have it, me bye, ut the very first chance, whin 
both of us are frish.” 

“ Me want good men,” responded the Indian. 

“ The big warrior was too much for me,” confessed 
Boggs, as he waded ashore. 

I see where he needs some dry clothes,” said Nor- 
man to Eustace. 

The boss gave him a quizzical look. 

‘‘ That’s something we don’t have on the drive,” he 
said. 

You don’t mean that he’ll go to work in those wet 
clothes, do you?” demanded Norman, in amazement. 

That’s just what he’ll do and be the better for it,” 
returned Eustace. The man who lets his wet clothing 
dry upon him rarely gets cold from it. Few of the 
men will have dry feet again for weeks to come. Now 
for the books,” he added, as the men were getting into 
the batteaux for the trip to the dam. “ I don’t expect 
to help you on them again during the entire drive.” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE CAPTURE OF THE WINDIGO 

Jump ’em in, boys ! Lay to ’em there ! ” 

Eustace was a bundle of energy, a reg’lar dynamo 
in trousers,” to use the language of Jud Skinner, as 
he directed the work of “ breaking in ” the landing at 
the head of Sebois Grand Lake a day later. He seemed 
to be everywhere, shouting his orders in quick, sharp 
tones, and inspiring with something of his own indom- 
itable spirit the perspiring men, who, peaveys in hand, 
swarmed over the big pile of logs, rolling them from 
the cross skids upon which they had been piled, into 
the waters of the lake. Once there other men with 
long, slender spruce poles having a sharp steel pick in 
the end, and universally known to Maine lumbermen 
and river drivers as a ‘‘ pickpole,” were pushing them 
clear of the mass and starting them on their long 
journey to the sawmills on the Penobscot. The work 
was somewhat facilitated by a strong wind that was 
blowing down the lake. 

Norman gasped with astonishment at the ease with 
which the men of the crew, in their spike-soled shoes, 
kept their footing upon the floating logs, jumping from 
one to another with wonderful agility and the confident 
66 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 67 


accuracy gained from long experience. Although they 
seemed to him to take exceedingly long and hazardous 
chances, there were no mishaps, and the work of put- 
ting the big pile of logs afloat went forward without 
accident and without delay. 

** This is great luck,'’ said Eustace with enthusiasm, 
as he paused a moment beside Norman. “ This south 
wind will land the logs at the foot of the lake for us. 
Barney O’Connor and some of the men are following 
this first run and will be there to drive them through 
the sluiceway at the dam. If this only holds a couple 
days or so, we shall certainly get a good start. There’s 
one good thing ’bout landing logs on a lake,” he added, 
“ you are sure of plenty of water room, which isn’t 
always the case when you break in a landing on a 
stream — especially if it’s a narrow one. I remember 
a landing old Bill Norton broke in one spring up on 
Trout Brook. The logs were piled high, and the banks 
weren’t a great way apart. All to once that whole 
brow of logs slid out on them, and filled that channel 
plumb-full from shore to shore. I tell you ’twas an 
awful mess. You could have heard Bill swear a mile. 
He was the most blasphemous fellow I ever knew. 
It certainly was a bad mix-up. Hung them up there 
for more than a week. They had to dog warp a good 
big part of those logs into the water.” 

“Dog warp?” repeated Norman. 

“Yes, pulled them out with a rope, hitched onto a 
steel spike, or dog as they call it. driven into each log. 


68 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


It was mighty slow and tedious business, I tell you. 
It fairly made Bill’s hair turn gray; but it was the 
only way out of the scrape. Hey there! Hold that 
other end with your peavey. She’s swinging off the 
skids! Get a jump there! ” and Eustace hurried away 
to superintend the rolling in of the logs. 

For a few moments Norman continued to watch the 
animated scene, and then, turning, made his way reluc- 
tantly back to the camp, conscious of the fact that he, 
too, had his work to do. 

He found Fred Warner at the spring and lugged 
one of his pails full of water for him to the cook’s tent, 
where Felix Lamarre was hard at work preparing the 
ten o’clock lunch for the men. 

Did you hear the Windigo last night ? ” asked the 
cookee with a smile, as they walked along. 

‘‘ I neither heard him nor saw him last night,” 
returned Norman. 

‘‘ I reckon no one but ’Poleon Caron ever saw him,” 
said Warner, lightly. 

You are wrong, Fred,” declared Norman. “ That 
scare of Caron’s was no dream. The Windigo, as he 
called him, was certainly patrolling the camp between 
the fires and the lake-shore. There is no doubt about 
it. I saw him myself.” 

‘‘You!” exclaimed Warner, incredulously. 

“ Certainly,” returned Norman, and, pledging his 
companion to secrecy, he related to him his surprising 
observations during the wakeful hours of his first night 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 69 


in camp. “ I thought it was best not to make any talk 
about it/’ he concluded. 

“ That was right/’ said Warner, approvingly. If 
you had you would have been in the same class with 
’Poleon. The men are still guying him about it, and 
he’s nearly come to the conclusion himself that it was 
all a bad dream.” 

“What do you suppose it was?” asked Norman. 

“ Why, the only thing it could be,” returned Warner. 
“ Some one of the crew playing a ghost act. He was 
walking up and down there knowing very well that, 
sooner or later, some one of the men would get up to 
put wood on the fire.” 

“ What if he’d struck some one of the boys who 
wasn’t superstitious?” suggested Norman. 

“ That would have been somewhat difficult,” returned 
Fred, dryly. “ It seems, though, that he was seen by 
one such,” he added, with a laugh. 

“ So you think any of the crew who were not super- 
stitious would have acted just as I did?” 

“ I do, with the possible exception of Billy Eustace. 
He knows from experience how difficult it is to hold 
a crew in this region when they once get the notion 
into their heads that there is a haunt in the neighbor- 
hood.” 

“ I thought he was annoyed over the matter,” said 
Norman. 

“ He was very much annoyed,” declared Fred. “ I 
happen to know that he kept a mighty close watch over 


70 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


things last night, but he might have known, if he^d 
stopped to think, that no practical joker would follow 
up a crack like that for two nights in succession/’ 

“ I don’t think Nature ever intended Billy for a 
Sherlock Holmes,” observed Norman. 

“ Far from it,” laughed Fred. “ He’s learned some 
things from experience, however. One is the great 
difficulty of reforming a practical joker on the drive. 
It’s the thirst for excitement — for something to break 
up the monotony of the life. It’s about as bad, in a 
way, as the appetite for strong drink. It’s not easy 
for the man who has the practical joke habit to turn 
away from it, and lead a better life. Most of the men 
are too tired when night comes to play pranks; but 
now and then there’s one that always seems to have 
some surplus energy left over from his day’s work. 
Nine times out of ten he’s one of the very best drivers 
in the crew. Such men will bear watching.” 

** Let’s do it ! ” exclaimed Norman. 

‘‘Do what?” 

“ Catch the Windigo.” 

“ I don’t see how we are going to do it,” said Fred, 
doubtfully. “ You and I sleep at the further end of 
the second camp. What’s to prevent the Windigo from 
getting away into the woods around the opposite end 
of the other camp ? ” 

“ Sol Soc,” said Norman, confidently. 

“ Sol Soc?” echoed Warner, doubtfully. 

“ Yes,” insisted Norman. “ You know he sleeps at 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 71 


the outer end of the other camp. It would take a 
streak of greased lightning to get by him. What an 
end he’d make on a football team! We could wait 
until the Windigo got about midway of the two camps. 
Then we could hustle out and close up this end of his 
beat. Sol could close up the other end, and then we’d 
have him nicely pocketed between the fires and the 
lake.” 

“ The Devil and the deep sea,” supplemented Warner. 

** I don’t believe he could escape us,” declared Nor- 
man. 

“ I reckon we’d have him cooked to a turn,” said 
Fred. 

At 9.30 o’clock Norman helped Warner carry the 
lunch to the men at work on the landing. Down the 
cookee’s back hung a double row of shiny pint tin 
dippers strung by the handles upon a stout piece of 
shingle rope that hung like a sash from his right 
shoulder. 

He also carried by the bail an immense coffee-pot 
full of that steaming beverage, while Norman carried 
two big covered wooden buckets, in one of which were 
big baking-powder biscuits and in the other doughnuts 
and sweet bread. There was also a tin plate and an 
iron knife for each member of the crew. 

They were heartily greeted by the men of the crew 
who sat around upon the logs of the landing and ate 
their plain fare with evident relish, indulging mean- 
while in rough jest and repartee. 


72 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“Seen that ^ere Windigo lately ?“ inquired Jud 
Skinner of Toleon Caron. 

“ Ba Joe! Da ban wan jus’ sam’ — I t’ink,” 
responded ’Poleon, weakly. It was evident that he 
was beginning to be a trifle uncertain as to whether 
his harrowing fright had been the result of a dream, 
or an actual experience. There was something decid- 
edly disconcerting in the scoffing laughter of the men, 
and it was very clear that ’Poleon had no desire to 
discuss the matter. 

Various comments, and views intended to chaff 
’Poleon, were offered by different members of the 
crew. 

While the matter was still under discussion, Norman 
improved the opportunity to have a word with Sol 
Soc, who sat, some distance apart from the others, 
eating his meal in customary silence. 

“ How do,” he grunted, as Norman sat down beside 
him. 

“ How are you, Sol,” returned Norman, cordially. 
He glanced cautiously about and seeing that the others 
were engrossed in their own conversation, plunged at 
once into the subject he desired to discuss with the 
Indian. 

“ Sol,” he said, in a low tone, “ I want you to help 
Fred Warner and me catch the Windigo.” 

The Indian looked at him with the faint suggestion 
of a twinkle in his dark eyes. 

“ Him big job,” he said. “ Windigo ver’ bad spirit. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 73 


Ridum on storm wings. Grabum wicked people. No 
seeum again.^^ 

“ That may be true of the real Windigo, Sol,” 
laughed Norman, “ but that isn’t the one I’m talking 
about. I mean ’Poleon Caron’s Windigo.” 

“ Him ’noder feller,” declared Sol. 

“ I know he is,” declared Norman. 

‘‘You seeum?” asked the Indian. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Me, too.” 

“ You don’t mean to say you saw him,” exclaimed 
Norman. 

The Indian nodded. 

“ I might have known it,” declared Norman. “ I’ll 
bet there’s mighty little around those camps that 
escapes your eyes. Now I’ll tell you what we want, 
Sol,” he continued, hurriedly. “ Fred and I rather 
look for the Windigo again to-night. If he comes 
we’ll cut him off at our end of the camp. You cut 
him off at your end, and we’ll have him trapped between 
the fires and the lake front. It won’t be much of a 
trick then to wake up the men, and run him down.” 

“ Me be dere,” said the Indian, briefly. 

“ All right,” returned Norman, much gratified, as 
he rose to leave him. “ We’ll depend on you then.” 

He related his interview with the Indian to Fred 
Warner, as they returned to camp. “ Tell you what,” 
he exclaimed, in high glee, “ there will be something 
doing to-night if Mr. Windigo puts in an appearance.” 


74 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


I rather guess so, too,’^ agreed Warner. 

While Norman managed to keep himself busy during 
the remainder of the day, going with Fred Warner 
when he carried out the 12 and 2.30 o’clock lunches, 
the day was, nevertheless, a long one, and it was with 
no little satisfaction that he watched the lengthening 
shadows merge themselves in the dusk of evening. 
It had been a strenuous day for the crew, for Billy 
Eustace knew full well the art which enables the suc- 
cessful boss to get from his men the very best service 
that is in them. Still, even the long day with its hard 
and exacting tasks, its constant demands upon brain 
and brawn, had not wholly robbed them of their ebul- 
lient spirits. There is always a wealth of recuperation 
for jaded bodies in a woods atmosphere, and the life 
in the open. 

The men were early to bed that night, and before 
nine o’clock the long measured breathing from the 
camps indicated that every one was asleep. Appear- 
ances, however, are often deceitful. Two members of 
the crew at least were very wide awake. 

I’m afraid he won’t come to-night,” whispered 
Norman, regretfully, as ten o’clock came and went 
with no sign of the ghostly visitor. “ There’s Barney 
O’Connor fixing up the fires,” he added, as the form 
of the Irishman appeared in the firelight carrying an 
armful of wood. 

The big blaze shot up towards the sky, lighting up 
the little clearing and the near surface of the lake with 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 75 


a brightness that threw the surrounding shadows into 
sharper contrast. 

“ It’s funny,” whispered Norman, but I have heard 
scarcely any of those noises I heard when I was awake 
the first night.” 

“ You won’t,” returned Fred. It’s only when you 
are keeping awake alone that those will come to you. 
There is always a crowd when you’re talking to Mother 
Nature.” 

“ Sh-h,” warned Norman, in an excited whisper. 
“ There he comes ! ” 

There was no mistaking it. Moving with slow and 
solemn tread along the front of the camps, in the spac?: 
between the fires and the lake shore, was the bent and 
decrepit form of ’Poleon Caron’s Windigo. 

Norman and Fred watched his weird figure with 
fascinated interest. Slowly he moved down the front 
of the camps until he came opposite them and then, 
turning abruptly, retraced his measured way in the 
same impressive manner. 

“Now!” whispered Norman, when the aged figure 
had reached a point between the two camps. He rose 
carefully and made his way softly out of the camp, 
closely followed by his companion. 

“Where’s Sol?” whispered Fred, as they reached 
the space between the camp-fires and the lake. 

“ I don’t see him,” returned Norman, anxiously. 
“ I hope he hasn’t overslept.” 

“ Sh-h,” said Warner. 


76 WITH PICKPOLE AND P^AVEY 


The Windigo had paused in a listening attitude. 
Evidently satisfied after a moment that all was well, 
he resumed his march. 

The boys were slowly following him up, when 
Norman incautiously stepped upon a dead limb. The 
Windigo wheeled upon them sharply, and pointed a 
long, glowing finger in their direction, then seeing 
that they were following him undismayed, he suddenly 
straightened up, dropped his staff, and fled from them 
like a frightened deer. 

“ Hi there ! Hold on there ! ” they shouted as they 
raced after him. 

It was evident, however, that the Windigo was a 
sprinter of no mean ability. He dashed away from 
them with an astonishing burst of speed, and soon 
reached the end of the farther camp. 

“ He’ll make the woods! He’ll get away! ” gasped 
Norman. 

His fears were groundless, however. As the Win- 
digo turned to make for the woods, a tall form dashed 
around the end of the camp, and clasped the weird and 
ghostly apparition in his arms. At the same time the 
captor gave vent to a triumphant war-whoop that 
brought the men of the crew leaping from their beds 
in a tumult of excitement. 

For a moment the Windigo struggled furiously, but 
hopelessly, in the powerful arms of Sol Soc. 

‘‘ Giveum up ? ” grunted the Indian, as the members 
of the crew gathered around him. 



For a moment the Windigo struggled furiously but 

IIOI'ICLESSLY. — PCKje 76. 








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V. ■ T 



WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 77 


Sure Moike ! ’’ said the Windigo, good-naturedly. 
“ It’s captured Oi am. I surrinder.” 

“ Barney O’Connor ! ” came in chorus from the 
astonished members of the crew at the first sound of 
the Irishman’s rich brogue. There was a roar of 
laughter, in which even shame-faced ’Poleon Caron 
joined feebly. He foresaw the chaffing he would have 
to endure from his companions, but at the same time 
he found a large measure of recompense in the sudden 
relief from his fears. 

With his disguise upon his arm, Barney O’Connor 
stood laughing in the midst of his captors. His outfit 
was a simple one, consisting of a sheet, the half of a 
broken pickpole, and a wig and beard made with con- 
siderable skill from the hempen strands of a piece of 
new rope which the ingenious Irishman had evidently 
pulled apart for that purpose. 

I couldn’t hilp it. Me spirit was willin’ ; but me 
flesh was wake,” said O’Connor to Eustace, who stood 
on the outer edge of the circle regarding him with very 
evident displeasure. 

I thought we were here to drive logs,” said the 
boss, coldly. 

“ Arrah ! but we’ll droive ’em all right,” returned 
Barney. ‘‘ Sure a little fun now an’ thin will ile up 
the jints of the min.” 

‘‘ You mighty near oiled some of them off the 
drive,” growled Eustace, unappeased. He’s played 
horse with you. What are you going to do with him ? ” 


78 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Geeve heem ole codfeesh ! ’’ Souse him ! ’’ Ride 
him on a pole ! were some of the suggestions shouted 
by the men in response to this question. 

The idea of a ducking seemed to appeal with special 
force to the men. Strong hands were laid upon Barney, 
and he was borne, struggling and squirming, to the 
shore, and thrown headlong into the cold waters of 
the lake. 

‘‘ Oi’ve had me dance an’ paid the fiddler,” he said, 
philosophically, as he sat before the fire, drying his 
wet clothes, after he had waded ashore. “ Sure Oi’m 
thot tinder av ye thot Oi rickon Oi’ll stay oop this 
noight an’ kape the fires goin’ for ye.” 

There’s one thing I’d very much like to know, 
Barney,” said Norman, pausing beside him. 

‘‘What’s thot, me bye?” 

“ How did you get that fiery finger?” 

The Irishman looked at him with twinkling eyes. 

“ A little phosphorus will do wondthers on a dark 
noight,” he said. 


CHAPTER VII 


NORMAN TRIES SPIKE-SOLE SHOES 

“ We’ll have to warp ’em.” 

The crew was eating breakfast in the first glow of 
the dawn the morning following the capture of the 
Windigo, as the men had promptly named the rollicking 
Barney O’Connor. It was very evident that weather 
conditions were not to the liking of Eustace as he gave 
voice to this opinion. 

‘‘Why?” asked Norman, vaguely. He did not 
know just what the boss meant by “ warping ” logs. 

“ There isn’t much wind,” sighed Eustace, “ and 
what little there is of the contrary kind — blowing to 
the East. We’ll lose that pretty soon. It’s going to 
rain.” 

“Rain?” echoed Norman, in a tone of dismay. 

“ Sure,” responded Eustace, with conviction. “ It’s 
in the air.” 

“ Shure it will give us more wather for drivin’,” 
said Barney O’Connor, cheerfully. 

Norman felt depressed. One fair day had succeeded 
another thus far since they had left Patten, and, if 
Eustace were a weather prophet, they were now about 
to suffer the discomforts of a stormy one. 

79 


8o WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


You’ll have to get down the head-works and boom, 
Barney,” he said, turning to O’Connor. ‘‘ You’ll find 
them tied up in that little cove back of Willow Neck. 
I was ip hopes we could start the whole procession on 
a South wind.” 

“ Shure ye can’t have everything come a-chasing yer 
own way all the toime,” returned the Irishman, good- 
naturedly. ‘‘ Now and again ye must be afther missin’ 
it entoirely, or pullin’ it along by the ear.” 

‘‘ That’s about what we’ll have to do to-day,” said 
Eustace. 

Shortly after the men tramped away to their work 
in the faint glow of the morning. At 9.30 o’clock 
Norman assisted Fred Warner in carrying lunches to 
the men at work on the fast vanishing landing. 

“ Billy will have to move his logs with head-works 
to-day,” said Warner, as they tramped along together. 

Head-works? ” returned Norman. ‘‘ I thought he 
said he was going to warp them.” 

It’s the same thing,” explained Fred. ‘‘ You’ll see 
for yourself a little later when we come up with the 
men. I reckon they’ll just about be getting the first 
boom under way.” 

When the two boys reached the landing they found 
that Fred had been right in his prediction, for the 
boom of logs was already on its way down the lake. 
It was a large field of loose logs, enclosed all around 
by a big loop of logs fastened together at the ends to 
make them continuous. Logs thus fastened together 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 8i 


and used to fence in other logs are always known as 
a boom. 

That raft in front with the capstan is the head- 
works/' explained Fred Warner. 

The raft to which Warner had directed Norman's 
attention, and to which the boom of logs was securely 
fastened by a short, stout warp, was a substantial- 
looking structure. It was made of cross-piled logs, 
carefully hewn in order that their edges might fit 
closely together, and was three logs in thickness. On 
this raft, or, as it is commonly called by drivers, “ head- 
works," was a big log spool or capstan, revolving 
around a central shaft, and very similar to those used 
for the handling of anchors on ships, save that it stood 
considerably higher. In the top of this big capstan 
was a row of mortised holes into which were inserted 
the ends of the long bars used by the men in turning 
it. Attached to the capstan was a long and powerful 
warp, at the opposite end of which was a three-hundred- 
pound anchor. This anchor was carried in a batteau 
down the lake the length of the long warp, and thrown 
into the water. The men then returned to the big raft 
or head-works and manned the capstan bars. Moving 
round and round in a big circle, they slowly wound up 
the long warp, moving the head-works and the boom 
of logs attached to it down the lake towards the anchor. 
When this was reached it was pulled up from the 
bottom of the lake, the warp was unwound from the 
capstan, and once more the heavy anchor was carried 


82 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


down the lake to furnish a new pull hold for the head- 
works. 

‘‘ Looks to me like pretty slow business,” was Nor- 
man’s comment, after he had watched the work for 
some time. 

“ It’s slow but sure,” responded Fred. ‘‘ You must 
remember, however, that, in a very famous race of 
olden times, the tortoise beat the hare.” 

But the monotony of it!” exclaimed Norman. 

It’s very nearly as exciting as treading a threshing 
machine or turning a grindstone,” responded Fred, with 
a laugh. I can tell you one other thing it is and no 
mistake,” he added, in a more serious tone. ‘‘ It comes 
pretty near being mighty hard work. If you don’t 
believe it, just try it yourself sometime.” 

Norman laughed. 

I’m quite willing to take your word for it,” he 
said. 

“ Of course in our case here the distance is not 
long,” continued Fred. With any kind of luck the 
boys will have that boom of logs tied up at the dam 
before supper time, but on the bigger lakes warping 
logs is a good deal more of a proposition. Men have 
been known to work at it three days and nights at a 
stretch.” 

I should think it would kill them,” said Norman. 

Well, it is something of a strain on human endur- 
ance,” admitted Fred, but these men are tough. If 
they were not, they wouldn’t be on the drive.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 83 


Norman was strangely silent on the return to the 
camp, and Warner, noticing that he was preoccupied, 
forbore to break in upon the current of his reflection. 

I believe I can do it.” 

Norman broke out abruptly and somewhat emphati- 
cally with this expression of faith. Warner looked up 
at him with quick interest. 

“ I reckon you’ve got the fever,” he said, dryly. 

‘‘What fever?” 

“ You want to try the logs with spike-sole shoes,” 
returned Fred, confidently. 

Norman looked surprised and annoyed. 

“ How did you guess ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, I recognized the symptoms,” returned Fred, 
easily. “ Every new man has ’em, sooner or later. 
There’s only one cure.” 

“What’s that?” 

“ Get a pair of spike-sole shoes, and try it out.” 

“ That’s just what I’m going to do,” confided Nor- 
man. “ There’s a pair of those shoes in the wangan 
that will just fit me. I tried them on this morning. 
I think I’ll buy them, and see what I can do in them.” 

“ Better do it when the men aren’t round,” admon- 
ished Fred. 

“ I’d thought about that,” returned Norman. 
“ There’s an old log in the cove beyond the camp, 
and I thought I’d practise up a bit on that. This is 
one of my easy days, and I might as well make it 
count.” 


84 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Arriving at the camp Norman lost no time in put- 
ting bis new plan into execution, and arrayed in his 
heavy new driving shoes he made his way to the cove, 
his wrought calks scraping with metallic ring upon the 
stones along the way. He carried a pickpole over 
his shoulder, and, although beginning to be somewhat 
dubious about his abilities, was determined not to retire 
without giving his self-imposed task a thorough trying 
out. 

He was relieved to find his log still lodged in the 
willows of the cove, and near it another, which had 
evidently drifted in during the night. He walked to 
the further end of the larger of the two, and, using 
his pickpole, pushed it out upon the water. Once afloat 
he ran back and forth upon it with a feeling of exhil- 
aration. The spikes of his heavy shoes gave him a 
sureness of footing that inspired him with confidence. 
After poling his log about for a few minutes, and 
keeping his balance far better than he had supposed 
he would be able to, he was encouraged to take greater 
hazards. He began to feel that, after all, the river 
driver's art wasn’t half the knack that the experts 
would make it appear. With a little more practice he 
would show them a thing or two himself, and wouldn’t 
they be surprised! 

He returned to the shore, and, pushing the second 
log into the cove, amused himself for a time by leaping 
from one to the other, using his pickpole, with its 
pointed end firmly bedded on the bottom of the lake. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 85 


for a vaulting pole. He had performed this feat suc- 
cessfully several times, and was about to repeat it when 
a most unexpected mishap befell him. His pickpole 
stuck in a soft place in the lake bottom and failed to 
respond quickly to his jump. He hung for a moment, 
suspended in air, and then, failing to make the second 
log, fell with a mighty splash into the water. 

As he came to the surface a roar of laughter greeted 
him from the shore, and he looked up with a sickly 
smile of chagrin to see the convulsed faces of Fred 
Warner and Felix Lamarre watching him from the 
willows.'* 

“You’d better look out!” he shouted, good- 
humoredly, as he recovered his pickpole and waded 
ashore with it. “ I’ve given you a good two-ringed 
circus, and now I’m going to take up a collection.” 

“You mustn’t mind us,” said Fred Warner, in a 
mollifying tone. “ Really you did wonderfully well, 
but you looked so comical, and had such a wild expres- 
sion on your face when you went under, that we 
couldn’t help laughing at you.” 

“ Dat wan grande, smart treeck,” declared the gig- 
gling Felix. “ I t’ink you mak’ wan mos’ smart 
driver.” 

“ I sha’n’t give it up — that’s one thing certain,” 
declared Norman, grimly, as he followed them back 
to the camp. 

“Good boy!” said Felix, approvingly. “You ban 
got ver’ moch spunk.” 


86 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘ You needn’t feel down at the heel, Norman,” 
declared Fred Warner, encouragingly. “ I’ve seen 
more than one greenhorn that didn’t succeed in riding 
even one log the first time trying, let alone two. You 
did too well, and got too ambitious.” 

“ Verily, pride goeth before a fall,” returned Nor- 
man, solemnly. I hope the men won’t learn of this,” 
he added, with some anxiety. 

“ They won’t through me,” declared Warner. 

‘‘ Ba golly! I don’ tell heem,” added Felix. 

Thanks,” said Norman, heartily. “ I don’t want 
them chaffing me now. A little later I’ll take my 
chances with them. I know I can do it — with a 
little more practice.” 

“ I’ve no doubt of it,” replied Fred Warner, con- 
fidently. You take to it like a duck to water.” 

“ I gass nex’ time you show de boys wan t’ing or 
mebbe two or tree,” supplemented Felix. 

Norman laughed. 

“ Shure, an’ ye flatther me I ” he said, imitating the 
rich brogue of Barney O’Connor. Eustace was a 
false prophet,” he added, with a glance at the sky. 
“ The sky is clearing. It isn’t going to rain after all.” 

He seated himself on a cracker box beside the cook’s 
fire, and proceeded to dry out his wet clothing so that 
when the time came to take out the noon lunches to 
the men he was able, by exchanging his steaming coat 
for his woods sweater, to accompany Fred Warner 
without exciting any comment. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 87 


Norman was not a boy to be discouraged easily. 
The following day he renewed his practice upon the 
logs in the cove, and speedily developed a skill and 
confidence that made him anxious to try it out with 
the men; but for a time no opportunity was afforded 
for him to do so. The big landing of logs was started 
on its long journey to the mills on the Penobscot, and 
camp and cook were forced to keep in close and con- 
stant touch with its progress. 

The first move was down Sebois Grand Lake to 
Snowshoe Lake, and across this beautiful sheet of 
water with its wild woods setting, to the head of 
White Horse Lake which was connected with it by a 
short thoroughfare whose sluggish waters afforded, at 
freshet pitch, an excellent opportunity for log driving. 
It became necessary for the crew to “ carry ” the big 
batteaux around the dam at the foot of Sebois Grand 
Lake, and, though the distance was short, Norman 
had an opportunity to discover for himself that the 
task was not an easy one, and to understand why the 
men of a drivng crew have such an aversion to this 
particular duty. 

The contents of the big boats were first carried 
around the dam to the point where the heavy craft 
were to be launched again. The bulky articles, like 
barrels of pork and flour, were tied to the big oars. 
The ends of these were shouldered by the men, and 
the load thus suspended carried slowly around the dam. 
It was at best a slow and tedious process. This moving 


88 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


of the big driving boats and their contents is known to 
the drive as carrying wangan/’ an experience that 
was new to Norman, but one with which he was des- 
tined to become very familiar in the next few weeks. 

When the big batteaux were emptied of their con- 
tents, they were dragged on shore and turned bot- 
tom up. 

“ Arrah, an’ it’s lucky for us it’s a short portage; 
but be th’ heavins it’s a moighty mane job luggin’ boat 
at best,” declared Barney O’Connor. Now lay to it, 
me byes ! Aisy there ! Aisy wid ye ! ” The big boat, 
weighing over eight hundred pounds, was lifted upon 
the shoulders of twelve men, one at the bow, one at 
the stern, and five on either side, and moved leisurely 
down the descent towards the waters below the dam. 
As it made its slow, laborious way, with the spike-sole 
shoes of the men ploughing up the earth, and ringing 
sharply against the rocks, as they slipped and staggered 
along with their heavy burden, the big boat looked to 
Norman for all the world like a monster turtle feeling 
his uncertain way across the landscape. There was a 
sigh of relief from the men when they deposited it at 
the water’s edge below the dam, wiped their perspiring 
faces, and gave vent to their feelings in amazing expec- 
torations of tobacco juice. 

Bedad, this is the divil’s own job,” declared Barney 
O’Connor, voicing the general opinion. ‘‘ It’s makin’ 
a mule av a man; thot’s what it is.” 

I gass dat ban rat,” responded one of the men. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 89 


“ Give me a try at it/' requested Norman. 

“ Begorra an' it's a volunteer that we hov ! " 
exclaimed Barney. “ An' did ye iver hear the loikes 
o' thot, byes? I reckon as any av us wud be willin' 
for to swap places wid ye, hey byes ? " he added, turn- 
ing to the grinning men. 

“ You're very kind," laughed Norman. 

Sure, an' it's a good stout bye ye are," continued 
Barney, looking Norman over with a critical eye, “ an' 
I guess on the whole it's the bow we'll be afther lettin' 
ye take." 

“ I’ll try it," returned Norman, “ but you must 
remember I'm green at it. Don't try to play horse 
with me." 

We’ll be afther usin' ye as tinder as a new-born 
babe,” assured Barney. 

“ And that's tender enough for any one,” declared 
Norman. 

They made their way to the shore above the dam 
and shouldered the second batteau. 

As they slowly moved forward with it, Norman was 
conscious that he had undertaken a task of no small 
magnitude. The bow of the big boat rested heavily 
upon his shoulder as they went down the hill. All at 
once he felt that his load was over-riding him. He 
strove desperately to brace himself by digging the 
spikes of his shoes into the soft earth. For a few 
minutes he held his own. 

‘‘Easy!" 


90 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Steady there ! '' 

Howld hard, me bye ! ” came encouragingly from 
the members of the crew. 

Norman struggled manfully, but in going over the 
rounded brow of a ledge the big boat suddenly seemed 
to surge down upon him with all its weight; his feet, 
despite his utmost efforts, slipped from under him, 
and, losing his uncertain hold upon the batteau, he fell 
sprawling to the ground, amid the loud guffaws of 
the men. Very red in the face, he picked himself up 
and resumed his place. 

Good pluck, me lad ! ” called Barney O’Connor, 
encouragingly. 

The big boat suddenly seemed to be growing lighter 
and he reached the water below the dam without further 
mishap. 

‘‘ Fm initiated,” he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, 
as the boat was deposited at the water’s edge. ** One 
thing is certain,” he added, with sudden suspicion, as 
he glanced at the broadly grinning faces of the men, 
“ either I lugged a part of your load at the first of 
that trip, or you lugged a part of mine the last of it.” 

A roar of laughter greeted this statement. Barney 
O’Connor looked at him with twinkling eyes. 

“ It’s not me thot wud be denyin’ thot she surged 
a little whin we was a-goin’ over thot lidge,” he said, 
reflectively. ‘‘ Yes, indade, she surged,” he added, 
solemnly. 

'' I suspected as much,” said Norman, dryly — a 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 91 


reply that called forth another gust of uproarious 
laughter from the men. 

“ Wid the practice yeVe had it's betther ye’ll do 
nixt toime,” said Barney, consolingly. “ It’s enough 
onyway thot ye’ve done for one day an’ shure there’s 
no feller here thot fails to appreciate it.” 

“Thanks!” responded Norman, good-naturedly. 

“ I didn’t know as you’d see it,” said Fred Warner, 
when the men had returned above the dam. 

“ I didn’t see it. I felt it,” returned Normah. 
“ Still at best that batteau is no feather bed.” 

“ The two-streakers are much lighter.” 

“And what’s a two-streaker?” demanded Norman. 

“ It’s a batteau with only two boards to a side,” 
returned Warner. “ These we are using you’ll notice 
have three. They are called Maynards after the name 
of the man who first made them. Six men can lug 
a two-streaker, but it takes a double crew to handle 
a Maynard with any sort of comfort. Still I’ve heard 
men say that they’d just as soon handle a Maynard 
with twelve men as a two-streaker with six men. The 
big boats carry so much more that it takes a less 
number of them to a crew, and they are much better 
rough- water boats.” 

A little later they were on their way down to Snow- 
shoe Lake, not far from the foot of which, in a favor- 
able spot near a good spring of water, they pitched the 
big tents, and made a new camp. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ON THE LOWER SEBOIS 

The days that followed the first moving of the camp 
were strenuous ones for hard-working Billy Eustace 
and the men of his crew. They toiled from dawn to 
dusk with feverish energy. Eustace himself appeared 
to be the very incarnation of restless, driving force. 
He was at his work early and late, urging the men to 
constantly greater efforts. Haste, hustle, hurry, were 
the words most frequently upon his lips. He made 
the crew feel, in a hundred subtle ways, that he was 
secretly proud of their skill and daring; and they 
justified his confidence with a reckless, almost uncon- 
scious, courage and vigor, that stamped them as effi- 
cient men in their dangerous calling. The word went 
forth that the water was surely falling, and the brook 
drives must all be run into the main river while yet 
the high water of the spring freshet made it possible, 
and the men responded with enthusiasm to the demands 
of the situation, working through the lengthening hours 
of daylight in a very abandon of effort. Their feet 
were never dry, and great slashes had been cut in the 
toes of their spike-sole shoes to let out the water that 
was constantly filling them. 


92 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 93 


As the falling water made his task more formidable 
Eustace became morose and taciturn, except when 
giving his sharp, crisp orders to the men. Seemingly 
he never rested, and the drive, drive, drive of his daunt- 
less spirit seemed constantly to keep the members of 
the crew at the highest possible tension. 

If one would maintain the upper hands of a situ- 
ation like this he must make himself something of a 
pirate,” explained the boss to Norman confidentially 
one morning, as they sat together upon a boulder eating 
breakfast. Must make every man in the crew feel 
that you think he's a little smarter than any of the rest 
of them, and in a large measure personally responsible 
for the success of the drive. At the same time each 
one of them must be persuaded fully that you are 
wrought up to the killing point; that you are fairly 
thirsting for blood, and that you’d just as soon it would 
be his as any other man’s.” 

‘‘ You’ve certainly got them going all right,” said 
Norman. 

I’m glad we’re getting rid of the brook drives,” 
continued Eustace, in a tone of relief. “ Those are 
what make a man’s hair grow gray, for if you fail to 
take advantage of the freshet pitch the chances are that 
you’ve lost those logs unless, of course, an unusually 
heavy rain comes along to help you out. Even then 
it’s ten to one that you don’t have to go back for ’em. 
I like to clean up a drive as I go along. I tell the 
boys not to hesitate to chop in two a few logs on the 


94 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


brook drives wherever it will save time. Td rather do 
it than take chances of hanging up the season's cut." 

But where you have to cut up a log in driving, 
does it necessarily follow that you lose by it ? " asked 
Norman. 

Yes, to some extent always," returned Eustace. 

“ Two short logs are never as valuable as one long 
one at the mill, and, moreover, where two logs are* 
made from one in driving it isn't always possible to 
put the company's mark on the second one, although 
we always endeavor to do so when practicable." 

“ What becomes of the unmarked logs on a drive ? " 
asked Norman. 

Such logs become what are known as ‘ prizes,' " 
explained Eustace. “ They are taken out at the sort- 
ing booms and sold, the sum realized from them being 
divided among the operators in the proportion that 
their various cuts bear to the whole number of logs 
included in the drive." 

'' So it isn't all loss," said Norman. 

Not if you don't contribute more than your fair 
share of the prize logs," returned Eustace. A real 
careful operator will invariably profit from the shift- 
lessness of a careless one." 

Day followed day during this period of the drive with 
little to break their monotony. There was a general 
sigh of relief when the last brook drive was finally 
joined to the main drive, and on its way down the 
Sebois river, 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 95 


‘‘ We didn’t get ’em in a minute too soon,” declared 
Eustace to Norman. “ The water’s been falling stead- 
ily, and I’ve expected to get pinched on at least part 
of them. For once luck was with me. Talk about 
Chamberlain Lake waters ! ” he added, with apparent 
conviction. If we didn’t have them there wouldn’t 
be water enough in the East Branch to-day to float 
ducks,” and having finished his meal, Eustace hurried 
away to urge on the men to greater endeavors. 

It was no easy task to maintain the camp within 
easy reach of the crew during these bustling days, and 
Norman was kept very busy, along with his other work, 
in assisting Fred and Felix in taking down the big 
tents, transporting them to new sites, and setting therh 
up again. These various journeys in the big May- 
nards gave him a certain amount of confidence in the 
handling of a batteau. He also improved his oppor- 
tunities for practising on the logs in spike-sole shoes, 
with such good results that when he finally appeared 
in them among the men he was able, very much to 
their surprise, to acquit himself with a skill that com- 
manded their respect, some of them even going so far 
as to predict that he would make “ a mighty smart 
driver.” 

One beautiful morning in early June the men of the 
crew made their appearance at Larry Hunt’s place, 
poling their big batteaux along the dead water and 
drawing them out on the pebbly shore above the dam. 
Through the sluiceway that ran from the little pond. 


96 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 

and which extended under the bridge that crossed the 
Sebois just below the dam, the brown-faced, perspiring 
drivers were pushing a continuous line of logs with 
their long pickpoles. 

There was a gate at the head of the sluiceway. This 
could be closed down, and used to hold back the water. 
It was open, however, when the wangan boat reached 
Hunt’s place, and a sufficient flow of water was run- 
ning in the sluiceway to float easily the logs that were 
being sent through it. At the head of the sluiceway 
were several floating timbers which by an ingenious 
device could be pulled quickly across the current at the 
opening and as effectually prevent the passage of any 
logs as would the shutting down of the gate itself. 
This was called a “ trip ” and its object was to shut 
off the running of the logs, when the flag or signal 
men stationed along the shores on ledgy promontories 
or the giant boulders that studded the sides of the 
river, bed, notified the men above the dam that some 
of the logs had caught and were obstructing the river. 
This prevented the running of any more logs until 
those which had lodged in the channel below were 
cleared away and sent upon their journey, leaving the 
river once more free from obstruction. In this way . 
it was possible to avoid, on a boisterous stretch of 
white water, the jams ” that would, otherwise, have 
delayed the progress of the drive, and which would 
have added very largely to the danger and expense of 
handling it. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 97 


When the men below the dam had straightened the 
refractory logs the trip was opened again, and once 
more the fallen giants of the forest were permitted to 
run through the sluiceway on their way to the Penob- 
scot. Some of the signal men were plainly seen by 
Norman as he stood upon the bridge and looked down 
into the wild, rocky gorge through which the roaring 
river rushed with seething current and driving spray. 

By watching the signals and observing the men above 
the dam operate their trip in response to them, he soon 
discovered that the display of a white flag by the 
signal men, meant “ Go ahead. The channel’s clear,” 
while the waving of a red flag meant “ Close the trip, 
a jam is forming.” 

Larry Hunt saved them a hard task by moving their 
batteaux around the dam and bridge on a long sled 
drawn by two strong horses, and soon after they were 
encamped upon a gentle, sloping bluff far above the 
foamy bed of the river. A little later Norman and 
Fred made their way down a steep ravine to the edge 
of the water to serve the men with their 9.30 lunch. 
Norman was confldent that he detected a distinct atmos- 
phere of elation among them, which he instinctively 
felt was due to their enjoyment of the greatly increased 
hazards of their work. At length they had reached 
white water ” where strength and daring would test 
their mettle, and every day’s work would be a tourna- 
ment with death. The battle was on and all were alive 
with its exhilaration. They were, too, imbued with 


98 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the militant spirit; they were men, in the apt language 
of Mrs. Fannie Hardy Eckstorm, whose armed heels 
smote the rock, whose peavies jangled a battle hymn.” 

After the return to camp from the distribution of 
the forenoon lunches, Norman strolled along the high 
banks for a further view of the wild glories of the 
river. Presently he emerged from a clump of fir-trees 
and stood upon the broad flat top of a giant cliff, 
whose seamy front leaped away in almost sheer descent 
for several hundred feet to the yeasty current below. 
There was a small tent pitched upon the brow of this 
rocky promontory, in front of which blazed a small 
fire. The place jutted well out into the river basin, 
affording an excellent view up and down its turbid 
waters. Near the outer edge of this high crest a hole 
had been drilled in the rock into which a staff was stuck 
upon which floated a white flag. 

Another staff bearing a red flag lay close at hand 
upon the rock. Standing back to him beside the flying 
flag was a man, closely watching the progress of the 
logs as they went racing along in the angry current. 

Norman was about to speak to him, when the man 
turned and saw him. With a shout of pleasure he 
came forward to meet him, and Norman perceived with 
amazement that he was old Jim Benner. 

“Norman Carver, or I am a liar!” exclaimed the 
veteran joyfully as he wrung his hand. “ Knew ye 
was on the drive. Ben a watchin’ for ye to come 
along for th’ last three days,” he declared, with very 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 99 


evident satisfaction, his weather-beaten face wreathed 
in smiles. 

But I wasn’t expecting to see you, Jim,” said 
Norman. “ In fact I don’t know when I was ever 
more surprised. The last time I saw you was in the 
hospital at Aerie Lake.” 

“ They couldn’t keep me there, though,” returned 
Benner, with an accent of pride. “ I’m too tough. 
If I hadn’t ben thet ’ere fiend of a Kelty would 
a-finished me up for sartin sure. Thet’s jest what 
he laid out t’ do.” 

“No doubt of it; and I was afraid one time that 
he’d accomplished his purpose,” declared Norman. 

“ Came ’bout as nigh it es any one ever did and 
fail,” said Benner, with conviction. “ Found things 
a little tiresome, hey ? ” questioned the veteran, with 
a smile. 

“ It’s been a good deal like work,” admitted Nor- 
man ; “ but I’ve been too busy thus far to get home- 
sick.” 

“A feller will alius be thet on the drive,” said 
Benner, sagely. “ Billy gin me this ’ere job, because 
it comes nigher bein’ a snap than anything else. If 
it hadn’t ben I reckon es how Fd never held it down,” 
he added, with a sigh of regret. “ My wound is all 
healed up nicely; but I’ve ben a leetle slow a-gettin’ 
back my strength. You’ll enjoy things now a good 
deal better,” he added, with an abrupt change of 
subject. 


100 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 

“Do you think so?” asked Norman. 

“ Sartin sure,” returned Benner, confidently. 
“ You’ve reached some real white water now, my 
boy. From here to th’ East Branch are a number 
o’ deep river gorges, which’ll call for some pretty 
lively drivin’. Th’ boys’ll be on their mettle from 
this time forth, an’ Billy will be a mighty lucky man 
if he gets out of the Sebois without a jam or two.” 

“ We’ve been very fortunate in that respect so far,” 
returned Norman. “ We have had one or two small 
pile-ups ; but nothing as yet that we couldn’t start with- 
out any very serious trouble.” 

“ There used to be some awful jams in this very 
gorge,” returned Benner, “ but since they built th’ dam 
an’ trip, an’ fixed up the signal stations, they manage 
to get through here in pretty fair shape. Now an’ 
then there’s a mix-up; but we shut off the logs above 
the dam at once an’ gin the men a chance t’ clean it up 
before it gits very big.” 

“ This is certainly grand,” said Norman, looking 
down the rocky gorge, through which the river, swollen 
with the contributions of its tributaries, went roaring 
down to the East Branch on its ceaseless journey to 
the sea. It was a wild, tempestuous torrent, now 
churning itself madly over rugged barriers, now leap- 
ing high in air in frothy protest against an obstructing 
ledge or boulder, now racing madly down some rocky 
declivity with exultant roar, its waters gleaming in 
the sunlight like clouds of amber flecked with white. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY loi 


Makes us think that man is a pretty small critter 
atter all when we look out on any part o’ Natur’ that 
gins a notion o’ the majesty o’ God,” said Benner, 
solemnly. I’ve thought ’bout thet a good many 
times sence I’ve ben a-roostin’ here.” 

“ Think of the enormous power that runs to waste 
there!” said Norman, in awed tone. 

“ Lots on it,” returned Benner. But, bless ye, 
only a very small part on it shows from here. This 
stretch o’ swift water is called the ‘ Horse Race.’ 
Below there is a short stretch o’ water cavortin’ over 
big boulders thet’s known es ‘ Little Tiger.’ There 
never was one as could ride a log or run a boat through 
there.” 

‘‘ I should think they’d come here in the fall when 
the water was low, and blow the boulders out of the 
channel,” said Norman. 

Bless ye, son I They’ve spent thousands o’ dollars 
a-doin’ o’ thet very thing,” said Benner. Do a little 
every year; it’s a-gettin’ better all th’ time, but there’s 
a powerful lot o’ rocks left yet ’tween here an’ th’ 
East Branch an’ is liable t’ be for some years ’t come.” 

‘‘What comes after Little Tiger?” asked Norman. 

“ Well, there’s ‘ The Jaws ’ — two big boulders that 
jut out o’ th’ bank on opposite sides o’ th’ river. 
They come so nigh together that they narrer up th’ 
channel at thet pint and make the current there go 
’long faster’n th’ tail end of a mill race. Late years 
they’ve gin’ally kept a signal man on both the jaws, 


102 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


for if a jam should form there it would cost a big 
wad o' money t’ pick it. Th’ company has found out 
by exper'ence that a couple o' pickpoles, an' a few 
dollars' wuth of elbow grease t' operate 'em, is a 
mighty good investment at thet pint." 

“Are there other bad places?" asked Norman. 

“ Yes, there's a long stretch o' quick rough water 
called ‘ Big Tiger.' Then there's Godfrey Pitch, where 
th' water takes a consider'ble tumble. One o' th' very 
wust places on th' river, although it isn't more'n a 
fifth of a mile long. 'Bout th' wust of 'em all, though, 
is Grand Pitch. It's all white water there. There 
air big rock cliffs on either side, an' th' water runs 
like a race boss. No boat ever went over thar with 
any one in it, though I’ve hearn tell es how they sent 
one over empty once, and she came through all right. 
Must ha' ben suthin of a mericle, I reckon. No duck 
ever swam Grand Pitch.” 

“ I should think they were lucky to be able to fly 
it," was Norman’s comment. 

“ Well, good-bye," said Benner, as his visitor turned 
to go. “ See ye et supper. My strong holt never was 
cookin', though I’ve managed t’ bone along here a 
day or two. The rest o’ th’ boys here got their meals 
at Hunt’s; but they was a-workin’ in shifts an' I 
couldn't very well leave. It was a mighty good invest- 
ment for Billy t' send ’em on ahead. Larry feeds 
mighty well, still it will seem a little like old times t' 
git some o' Felix Lamarre’s grub agin." 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 103 


‘‘ Don’t they let any logs through the sluiceway after 
dusk?” asked Norman. 

‘‘ Nary a log,” returned Benner. “ They couldn’t 
see t’ handle ’em if they did, so they jest shut down 
th’ gates o’ th’ dam an’ let th’ pond fill up over night. 
Thet gins ’em a good head o’ water t’ begin work 
with in th’ mornin’. They get along a good deal faster 
a-workin’ it thet way. Th’ water hes been failin’ off.” 

But see how rough it is,” protested Norman. 

“Jest another proof o’ what I said,” declared Ben- 
ner. “ Th’ water’s alius roughest on a failin’ pitch.” 

As Norman was returning to camp, he came upon 
Eustace and a number of the men in the act of “ dog- 
warping ” a small jam. There was no mistaking the 
key-log which, wedged in between four boulders, lay 
at right angles across the current, and effectually hung 
up the logs behind it. Fortunately the signal man had 
secured the prompt closing of the trip at the dam so 
that the accumulation was neither a formidable one, 
nor in danger of growing larger. 

Sol Soc had carried the end of the long warp out 
to the refractory key-log, into which he had with a 
few mighty swings of his axe driven the sharpened 
nose of the steel “ dog ” to which it was attached.. 

He then raced to the end of the log in his spike- 
sole shoes, and, planting his long pickpole on the 
river bed, vaulted nimbly ashore. 

“ Are you ready ? ” called Eustace, impatiently. 

“ Goum ’head,” returned Sol. 


104 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Norman joined Eustace and the men in a mighty 
pull upon the long warp. 

“ Lay to it, boys,’’ roared the boss. Steady there ! 
Now, all together.” 

The men settled back upon the rope for a lusty 
tug when suddenly the dog which attached it to the 
log gave way and sent them sprawling to the ground. 
They picked themselves up with a laugh at their 
bumped heads. Sol, seeing the mishap, was already 
back upon the log again with the dog. 

‘‘ Bring the warp more this way,” shouted Eustace, 
and set your dog a little further under the log.” 

Sol nodded assent. A moment later the crew pulled 
again with better success. 

“ There she hauls,” shouted Eustace, and even as 
he spoke the key-log slipped over a confining boulder, 
swung endwise into the current, and resumed its jour- 
ney towards the East Branch, while Sol with some 
prompt and skilful work with his pickpole sent the 
logs that had lodged against it following in its wake. 



The beginning of a jam. — Page 104. 






















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CHAPTER IX 


NORMAN BREAKS THE BIG JAM 

It's the unexpected that always happens ! ” 
Eustace was evidently depressed and annoyed. I 
set out to put a man at that very place to prevent a 
jam from forming; but the water has been so good 
that it didn't seem possible for any logs to get hung 
up there. It seems however that there were two little 
stretches of mushroom ledge just under the water there 
that I didn't take into account. They're holding the 
key-log at either end. If it could be cut in the center 
it would slide out between them." 

“Is it a bad jam?" asked Norman, to whom Eus- 
tace had confided this situation. 

“ Yes," responded the boss, grimly. “ Right there 
at the head of Grand Pitch, the most dangerous place 
to work on the whole river. The logs are bunged in 
there fiercely; ricked up like a heap of jackstraws. 
It's the worst place to work in the whole river. High 
ledgy shores, and a rough, crooked channel — down 
hill for a long stretch an' all white water! Couldn't 
find a meaner place on the Sebois to be hung up in." 

“ It must be dangerous to work in," suggested 
Norman. 


io6 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘ Dangerous ! echoed Eustace. Well, I should 
say so. Any man who tries to break that jam will 
take his life in his hand. There’s only one redeeming 
thing about it. We know the key-log. It isn’t always 
easy to locate them ; but this time there isn’t any doubt 
about it. When that jam hauls, she’s going out mighty 
lively.” 

‘‘Have you tried dynamite?” asked Norman. 

“ Yes. We fiddled around with it most of yester- 
day afternoon. Used charge after charge; but couldn’t 
seem to spin a thread.” 

“ Some one has got to cut that key-log,” said Nor- 
man. 

“ I don’t see any other way out of it,” declared 
Eustace, gloomily. “ I don’t like to ask one of the 
men to do it. It’s like signing his death warrant. 
That key-log is strained up like a bow now and I’ve 
been hoping that the pressure of the water and logs 
behind it might break it; but there’s no such luck. 
You can always depend upon a spruce log to hold 
tough when you don’t want it to.” 

“ I suppose the boys can work ’em off the top,” 
suggested Norman. 

“Yes,” assented Eustace, “but that way of getting 
at it is both slow and dangerous. It’s considerably 
more than likely that when the weight of the other 
logs is taken off that key-log she’ll float clear of the 
ledges that hold her, and go down the pitch with a 
rush. If she’s cut — and it wouldn’t take but a few 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 107 


dips with an axe to break her in two the way she’s 
strained up — why she’d just double up in the center 
and slide out like a streak of greased lightning. Yes, 
sir, depend upon it, whenever that jam hauls from any 
cause whatever she’s going out a-flying.” 

Breakfast was over and with shouldered peavies the 
men of the crews trooped away in the wake of Eustace. 
The boss was quick to notice that Norman Carver 
who walked beside him also wore spike-sole shoes, and 
carried a peavey. 

“ You mustn’t take chances, my boy,” he said, in a 
low tone. “ There are many experienced men in the 
crew who have faced these dangers before and will 
not be afraid to do so again.” 

I’m no better than any one else,” returned Norman, 
steadily. I want to take my share of the work and 
the dangers.” 

They emerged from the woods and walked along 
the shore overlooking the frothy waters of Godfrey 
Pitch. 

A startled cry of alarm came from the men of the 
crew, and looking down upon the roaring river, Nor- 
man saw a sight that filled him with amazement and 
apprehension. 

In the wild boil of the torrent, amid the flying mists 
and spray, a big batteau tossing like a feather upon 
the angry current, was speeding its swift way to what 
seemed certain destruction. In the stern with a big 
paddle in his hands sat Sol Soc, while Barney O’Con- 


io8 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


nor, pickpole in hand, crouched upon the bow fending 
off the racing craft from threatening ledges and boul- 
ders. 

A groan of dismay broke from Eustace. 

The fools ! ” he exclaimed, bitterly. “ I left them 
to help lower the boats over that pitch, and that’s what 
they are doing.” 

‘‘To lower the boats?” 

“ Yes. Hitch a long warp to them, and let them 
run over empty. No one ever tried to run that pitch 
in a boat before.” 

A shout of horror came from the men of the crew. 
A giant boulder loomed up before the big Maynard 
which was sliding down the foaming waters of the 
pitch with incredible speed. 

“ Dey ban loss ! Dey ban drown ! ” shouted some 
of the crew in a tumult of fear. 

It certainly looked as if Sol and Barney were doomed, 
but they were men of cool nerve as well as desperate 
daring. As the batteau neared the ledge O’Connor 
braced sharply against it with his pickpole, while with 
powerful strokes of his big paddle Sol helped to turn 
the bow of the batteau in an opposite direction. Slowly 
the big boat responded to this double exertion of 
strength, and a cheer broke from the men of the crew, 
as, barely grazing the obstruction that had threatened 
its life, it bounded on and out of sight down the river, 
amid the spume and the spray of the rushing waters. 

Soon after Eustace and his party came to the head 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 109 


of the ravine leading down a steep embankment to the 
foot of the pitch, and there, close against the shore in 
the eddying waters of a deep pool, rested the big boat 
with Barney and Sol in it, very much alive, and appar- 
ently in the best of spirits. 

Immediately they were plied with eagerly shouted 
questions from the men of the crew. 

‘‘Took in Til water; dat all,'’ said Sol, coolly. 

“ Arrah, it’s a foine trip we’ve bin afther havin’,” 
added Barney, with enthusiasm. 

“ I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” 
muttered Eustace. “ Those boats cost money. I s’pose 
you had it insured,” he shouted to Sol and Barney. 

“ Shure ! ” returned O’Connor, good-naturedly. “ We 
insured it wid our loives.” 

“ Well, you needn’t insure any more of them that 
way,” returned the boss, sharply. “ Tell the boys to 
lower the others.” 

“ Thot’s jist what they’ll be afther doin’,” asserted 
Barney. “ There wasn’t another mither’s son av thim 
thot wanted to roide this mornin’.” 

“ I’m glad they’ve got a little horse sense,” declared 
Eustace. “ You’d better tie up your boat and come 
along with us. That’s the last time I’ll give those 
boys a chance to help lower boats,” he added, to Nor- 
man. “ I might known they’d tried some such caper.” 

“ Begorra, Oi’m thinkin’ we’d betther be takin’ her 
down to the head o’ Grand Pitch all ready for the 
carry,” shouted O’Connor. 


no WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


That’s right. Go ahead,” returned Eustace. 

A little later the crew swarmed upon the jam, push- 
ing, pulling and prying with their peavies. A few logs 
were worked loose from the tangled mass and sent 
flying down the pitch, but it was slow and tedious 
work and made very little impression upon the big 
pile ricked up in all kinds of positions and extending 
from shore to shore. 

‘‘ It’s no use,” said Eustace, gloomily. “ We can 
never pick this jam in an eternity of years the way 
we’ve gone about it.” 

‘‘ Why don’t you get some one to cut that key-log? ” 
demanded Norman. 

I can’t ask any one. It’s too hazardous,” returned 
Eustace. “ Sol Soc or Barney ^will do it if I say the 
word, but I don’t like to do it. I know that when that 
jam hauls there’ll be no let up. She’ll go out like a 
shot. It won’t give a man much if any time to get 
ashore. It’s the most dangerous one I ever saw.” 

** Why don’t you bore a hole in it and use a dyna- 
mite cartridge ? ” 

There’s no chance to use an auger. The water’s 
too rough to work from the front, and the other logs 
overhang it so you can’t handle an auger from the 
rear. It’s about all you can do to reach it with a 
long-handled axe. You can’t even cut it on the under 
side.” 

“ Is that an advantage? ” 

“ Yes. A log cut that way breaks a little more 


With pickpole and peavey m 

slowly under the back pressure, and gives a man more 
time to reach the shore. Every second is precious at 
such a time. I reckon Fll take a couple of men and 
go back and get that rope. We’ll try dog- warpin’ a 
spell.” 

The boss called several of the men, and disappeared 
with them up the ravine that led a steep and winding 
way to the top of the high bank. 

When he was out of hearing Norman turned briskly 
to the perspiring men on the jungle of logs. “ Now, 
boys,” he said, with enthusiasm, “ let’s surprise Billy. 
Let’s pick this jam before he gets back.” 

The members of the crew leaned on their peavies 
for a moment and looked at him with commiserating 
grins. 

“ Ba cripe ! M’sieu Carvarre, dat wan beeg job,” 
said one. 

“ How you t’ink we ban do it ? ” demanded another. 

“ Cut that key-log,” returned Norman, vigorously. 
He saw that the veteran drivers were not disposed to 
take him seriously, and he was nettled by it. 

“ Dat wan fin’ t’ing for do,” said Joe Landre, whim- 
sically. “ W’at mouse tie dem bell on de cat ? ” 

A burst of uproarious laughter greeted this brilliant 
sally. 

“ I reckon, youngster, es how Billy Eustace will 
call for volunteers when he wants that ere log cut,” 
said Long Tom Boggs. “ When experienced men 
are inclined to go slow, my son, it isn’t altogether 


1 12 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


perlite for th^ risin' generation to try t’ rush things.” 

“ It ban easy for sen' some fellaire w’ere you don' 
t'ink for go yo'se'f,'' remarked another. 

A murmur of assent from the men followed this 
statement. 

De Four Honder don' hav' for go — w'en dey 
ban 'fraid for lose dey life,'' suggested a man who 
had hitherto remained silent. 

Norman's eyes flashed resolutely. “ I never would 
ask any one to go where I was afraid to go myself,'' 
he said, resentfully. 

“ Don't get warm around the collar, youngster,'' 
said Boggs, in a tone of good-natured remonstrance. 

You've picked up a heap more lamin' than the rest 
on us in some directions; but when it comes t' river 
drivin' I think th' most on us has hed a mighty sight 
more schoolin' than you hev. Experience counts a 
heap in river drivin', my son.'' 

“ M'sieu Cavarre wan ver' ver' brave fellaire ! 
Mebbe he cut dem key-log heemse'f,'' suggested one 
of the crew, in a mocking tone. 

A quick flush of anger mantled Norman's face. He 
hotly resented the disposition of these rough men to 
make fun of him, or question his courage. 

I reckon he's just the one who will,'' he retorted, 
hotly. Turning angrily about, he shouldered his pea- 
vey and made his way to the shore amid the jeering 
laughter of the men, who were under the impression 
that, having failed to secure a volunteer to cut the 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 113 


key-log, he was about to quit the job in disgust. 

There was a distinct gasp of dismay, however, when 
he reappeared on the jam shortly after with an axe 
on his shoulder, and coolly made his way to the front 
of the tangled log pile. 

“ Hoi’ on ! W’ere you ban gone, M’sieu Carvarre ? ” 
shouted one of the men, voicing the general conster- 
nation. 

I’m going to cut that key-log,” returned Norman, 
grimly. 

Hoi’ on.” 

You ban drown yo’se’f.” 

Com’ back, queeck.” 

It’s sure death t’ ye, son.” 

There was a genuine solicitude in the voices of the 
men now as they urged him to give up his foolhardy 
project; but Norman, having fully made up his mind 
to cut the key-log of the jam, was not to be dissuaded 
from his rash purpose. 

He was not insensible to the great danger of such 
an undertaking, but the raillery of the men, and their 
resentment at being offered a suggestion by him, had 
suddenly stirred to action all the pride and daring of 
his impulsive nature. 

He reached the front of the jam and stood in a 
narrow space in the big pile which afforded the only 
opportunity for reaching the log he sought, and a 
moment later the men heard the sharp ring of his 
axe as he drove it into the soft wood. With pale 


1 14 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


faces they moved towards the shore. They would at 
least be ready to race for safety when the jam hauled. 

Again and again above the roar of the waters, they 
heard the sound of the axe. An ominous cracking 
warned Norman that it was time to go, and, dropping 
his axe, he leaped to the top of the jam, and raced 
madly along, leaping wildly from one log to another, 
with wonderful sureness of foot, in a desperate effort 
to reach the shore. He was obliged, by the manner 
in which the logs were ricked up along the front, to 
race for the rear of the jam. 

There was a sound of crashing timber, followed by 
a mighty roar, and Norman was conscious that the 
logs beneath him were in motion. The big jam had 
suddenly hauled, and was going out, as Eustace had 
predicted it would, with a rush. Had Norman been 
nearer the front where the great logs were tumbling, 
rolling and up-ending into the rushing, foaming waters 
of the Pitch, he could not have escaped instant death. 
As it was his situation was in the highest degree 
critical, as the entire field of logs across which he was 
racing, as he leaped from one to another in his head- 
long dash for the shore, was in rapid motion, forced 
on towards the sweeping current of the Pitch by the 
great force of the waters that had gathered behind 
the big jam. 

‘‘ Ronne queeck ! 

‘‘ Hump yo’se’f ! ” 

‘‘ Jomp hard ! Sapre ! Com’ fas’, com’ fas’ — you ! ” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 115 


The men’s voices rising sharply above the grind of 
logs and the roar of waters, conveyed their agony of 
apprehension. 

Norman appreciated the urgency of their call, and 
strove desperately to respond to it; but he was doing 
his best. He fully realized that he was at that moment 
in greater peril than ever before in his life. His pulses 
throbbed with a desperate courage. The wild river 
gorge, the racing logs, the agonized faces of the rough 
men upon the shore, danced across his dazed vision, 
like the figures in a dream. Out of the blurry haze 
of that intensely hurrying, over-wrought moment, came 
another fleeting picture that danced across his misty 
vision like a brief, flashing sunbeam vanishing into 
shadow. It showed a great batteau coming down 
the river. In the bow, bareheaded, with white face 
and hair flying in the wind, was Barney O’Connor. 
Crouched in the stern, his big paddle in hand and his 
dark eyes wild with fear, was Sol Soc. Both men 
were shouting something, but their voices were lost in 
the roar of the waters, and the thunder of pounding 
logs. 

The logs were spreading out; they were moving 
faster; the jumps were longer, and Norman’s balance 
more uncertain. The shore still looked far away. Oh, 
if he only had a pickpole to use as a vaulting pole! 
A stretch of open water loomed dark before him — 
beyond it lay the shore and safety. He made a mighty 
leap to clear it, and a groan of despair went up from 


ii6 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the men on the shore when they saw him fall short 
of it and disappear in the angry waters. A moment 
later they saw him rise and throw his arm over one 
of the smaller logs that swept along in the rear of the 
vanishing jam. Then he passed from sight in the 
angry boil, and flying spray. The men raced madly 
along the shore, vainly endeavoring to keep him in 
sight, hoping against hope, but feeling that they had 
looked upon him alive for the last time. 

Presently they paused with a shout of amazement. 
Pressing closely on the rear of the whirling log field 
amid the raging white waters and beating spray of the 
Pitch, a big Maynard batteau was racing along. In the 
bow was Barney O’Connor, and in the stern Sol Soc. 



Picking a big jam. — Page 116 



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CHAPTER X 


THROUGH THE SHADOW OF DEATH 

A moment of silence fell upon the startled crew as 
the big Maynard swept by on the boiling current. 
They had been accustomed to deeds of daring from 
Barney O’Connor and Sol Soc, but this latest and 
wildest escapade of theirs, following immediately upon 
Norman’s unlooked-for and desperate exhibition of 
nerve, almost took away their powers of speech. 

“ Ba cripe ! Dey ban dead man for sure ! ” gasped 
one of the men, voicing the general verdict upon this 
act of reckless courage. 

‘‘ Dey ban affer de boy,” said another. 

He gone. Dey no fin’ heem,” chimed in a third. 

Sapre tonnerre ! ” exclaimed a fourth. “ Dat boat 
she ban’ bus’ herse’f on more as ten t’ousan’ pieces.” 

The big boat disappeared from sight around a sharp 
bend in the river gorge, and the men of the crew 
increased their speed in their race along the shore. 

To Norman the cold plunge in the river was a rude 
shattering of his hopes. He struck out for the nearest 
log, and threw his arm over it. He was conscious that 
he was being swept along through the white water at 
a terrific pace. Spray filled his eyes, and choked his 
117 


ii8 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


breath. The log to which he was clinging rolled under 
him, and slipped forward under his arm. Suddenly he 
felt an obstruction. A steel dog with a short stretch 
of warp attached to it was driven in the log. He 
vaguely remembered of hearing some of the men tell 
of losing a dog in warping, while the contrary log that 
carried it had gone on its way to the mills to spoil 
some whirring rotary. To Norman, however, the 
incident seemed providential. He grasped the trailing 
piece of warp with both hands, and clung to it with 
the grim desperation of despair. 

He was conscious of being bumped and bruised on 
boulders and logs as he whirled along. Occasionally 
some leap of the log that towed him forced his head 
beneath the water from which he would emerge a 
moment later, blinded and gasping. Then a strange 
lassitude overcame him. He floated away into hazy- 
land. Strange voices sounded afar off in his ears. 
He had a vague, dreamy feeling of losing his hold 
upon the warp, and drifting, drifting, drifting away 
into darkness and oblivion. 

“ Sthand back a little wid ye, min, an^ give him all 
the air there is.^’ 

It was Barney O’Connor's voice that called Norman 
back to consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes, and 
looked into the dark face of Sol Soc, who was bending 
above him, and slowly moving his folded arms above 
his head and back again upon his chest to induce 
artificial respiration. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 119 


An exultant shout broke from the men grouped about 
them on the shore. 

“ He com’ to!” 

‘‘ Ba golly, he ban live for sure ! ” 

Hooraw I Hooraw I Dat ban beeg t’ing w’at he do.” 

Now that the strain was over, and the men knew 
that Norman would live, their attention was turned 
from his personal danger to his achievement. He had 
cut the key-log of a big jam; he had run the demon 
waters of Grand Pitch, and had come out alive. It 
was certainly a “ beeg t’ing.” 

Scarcely less notable than the wonderful feat of 
Norman was the daring act of Sol Soc and Barney 
O’Connor, who, without a moment’s hesitation, and 
with wonderful skill, had run their big batteau through 
the angry waters of the Pitch where no loaded boat 
had ever gone before. It was this prompt action which 
had saved Norman’s life, enabling Barney O’Connor 
to drag him, in an unconscious condition, from the 
churning waters of a big eddy below the Pitch. 

“ You three fellows have broken three records on 
the Sebois drive,” said Eustace an hour later, as he 
stood looking down upon Norman, who, wrapped in 
heavy blankets, was sweating out ” on a bough bed 
before a roaring camp-fire. “ It was a splendid exhibi- 
tion of nerve, but you must promise me that you will 
never undertake anything of the kind again.” 

‘‘ I shall probably never have another chance,” 
returned Norman, with a laugh. 


120 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ You certainly will not if I can help it,” declared 
Eustace, with emphasis. And how do you feel 
now ? ” he inquired, with genuine solicitude. 

As Jim Benner would say, * slicker^n a cup cus- 
tard’,” laughed Norman. ‘‘ I feel a trifle sore, where 
I got thumped along the way, but, otherwise. I’m all 
right.” 

“ I reckon you’ll come round all right,” said Eustace, 
in a tone of relief. The boys all agree that they 
never saw such log running as you did after you cut 
that key-log. They are unanimously of the opinion 
that if you’d had a minute more you’d certainly have 
made the shore.” 

“ And if I had I wouldn’t have had the exhilarating 
experience of running Grand Pitch,” said Norman, 
lightly. 

** One such experience should be enough for a life- 
time,” declared Eustace, solemnly. It isn’t often 
given to a man to go through what you have experi- 
enced to-day and live to tell of it.” 

The day following these exciting episodes the work 
of the drive had once more settled into the routine of 
drudgery, although Norman was conscious that the 
men of the crew regarded him with such an increase 
of respect that they would no longer have resented any 
suggestion he might have made to them. Nowhere do 
the qualities of physical nerve and daring win greater 
prestige than among the rough men of the drive, who 
face death daily in constantly varying forms with a 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 121 


boldness and reckless hardihood, that constantly mini- 
mizes and makes light of the hazards. Ordinary 
exhibitions of fortitude and pluck in the presence of 
ever present dangers become so common that they 
attract comparatively little notice, except as they serve 
to confer upon a driver the coveted distinction of being 
a good white water man. It is only now and then 
that an act of exceptional hazard, successfully per- 
formed, serves to give a member of a driving crew 
some degree of special prestige. Such an act had been 
performed by Norman in breaking the jam at Grand 
Pitch, and the hardy men of the crew cheerfully 
accorded him the meed of praise that was his just due, 
without reservation or stint. 

The day following his narrow escape, Norman, 
though still somewhat stiff and sore from the bruises 
he had received, was able to accompany Fred Warner 
into the swamp to secure a supply of kindling wood 
from some suitable cedar log which had been blown 
down by the wind or discarded by the makers of rail- 
road ties who had operated that section several seasons 
before. 

Norman carried his shotgun, although, it being close 
time, he scarcely expected an opportunity to make use 
of it. 

A cry of regret broke from Warner as a magnificent 
buck deer, frightened from his hiding place behind some 
old tree tops, fled swiftly down a wood-road in full 
view of them. 


122 WITH PICKPOLE and PEAVEY 


What lots of game we see in close time/' he 
exclaimed, a little resentfully. 

Norman laughed at his friend’s evident disappoint- 
ment. 

“ I’m not altogether sure, Fred,” he confessed, “ that 
I should have taken any real satisfaction in shooting 
that magnificent creature.” 

Warner glanced at him in some perplexity. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“ What good would it have done ? ” 

“ We could have eaten him.” 

“ But we have enough to eat without him,” said 
Norman. 

“ Of course it wouldn’t have done to have shot him,” 
admitted Warner. “ It’s close time and I wouldn’t 
want you to break the law.” 

“ You people here are bound to take the practical 
view of every question that comes up,” said Norman. 

“ Why, that’s the only way to look at one,” declared 
Fred, with assurance, and Norman forbore to question 
the assertion. 

For a time they walked along in silence, each of 
them feeling the charm of the deep woods, in their 
fullness of life, and busy with his own reflections. 
Suddenly Fred laid his hand on Norman’s arm. 

“ Sh-h,” he said, warningly, in a voice that trembled 
with excitement. “ There’s game you can shoot with- 
out violating the law.” 

Following the direction of his friend’s gaze. Nor- 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 123 


man perceived a small gray animal snugly ensconced 
in the crotch of a giant hemlock that grew part way 
up the slope. 

“ What is it ? ’’ he whispered. 

“ A ’coon/' responded Warner. ** Is your gun 
loaded with buckshot?” 

** One barrel is.” 

** Let him have it. Fll stand ready to finish him 
with my rifle if he tries to get away after you’ve 
knocked him off his perch.” 

Norman took a careful aim at the raccoon and fired. 
Almost immediately it came tumbling out of the tree. 
As it struck the ground it started to run away, although 
it was evident that it was badly wounded. A bullet 
from Warner’s rifle promptly put an end to its struggles. 

‘‘ Oh, isn’t he a beauty? ” exclaimed Norman, delight- 
edly, as he and Fred surveyed their prize with no little 
elation. 

Warner laughed indulgently at his companion’s 
enthusiasm. 

Well, I should hardly call him that,” he said, but 
he is certainly a big ’coon — about the largest one, I 
think, I ever saw.” 

‘‘ He’s yours, Fred,” said Norman, generously. 

No, he isn’t,” declared Warner, decisively. ‘‘ I 
have no possible use for it.” 

It’s very kind of you to say so, and if you really 
mean it I should like that skin. I’ll have it tanned 
with the head on for a rug in father’s study.” 


124 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


That’s a good idea,” assented Fred. We’d better 
leave him beside the wood-road. We’ll get him when 
we go back to camp, and I’ll show you how to take off 
the skin and cure it. Won’t Felix Lamarre’s mouth 
water when he gets his eyes on this fellow ? ” 

‘‘Why, are they good to eat?” asked Norman, in 
surprise. 

“ Not specially so at this season of the year, but in 
the fall when they are fat, they are regarded as a great 
delicacy.” 

Continuing on their way the boys presently came to 
a stretch of cedar swamp in which they found a log 
that answered their purpose. “ We’ll come up here 
in the morning and load up the jumper,” said Fred. 
“ We sha’n’t need very much. They tell me there are 
plenty of good dry windfalls within easy reach of our 
next camp site.” 

They returned to the camp a little later, carrying 
with them the ’coon which they showed to the admiring 
Felix. 

“ Ba Joe ! ” he commented, with a shrug of his 
shoulders, “ jus’ you t’ink w’at ver’ nice firs’-rat’ pie 
dat fellaire was mak’.” 

“ You’re welcome to try your hand at him, Felix,” 
returned Norman, with a laugh. “ I’m afraid, though, 
he isn’t over-fat.” 

“ He mak’ wan pie wit’ heem w’at mak’ yo’ watterre 
on yo’ mout’,” declared Felix, confidently. “Jus’ yo’ 
t’ink, he ban almos’ on top dis camp.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 125 


Almost near enough to crowd the moose-birds for 
the camp scraps,” said Warner. 

What you do wit’ hees skeen? ” asked the cook. 

“ Why, I thought Fd fix the skin so as to keep it, 
and have a little rug made out of it when I go home,” 
responded Norman. 

‘‘ I t’ink it ban mos’ too small,” said Felix. “ No 
hurt for try, though. Barney O’Connor was show you 
jus’ how,” he added. He ban beeg man for tan 
skeen.” 

That evening after supper Norman took Barney 
aside and showed him the skin. 

“ Bedad an’ it’s not a bad wan for this toime av the 
year,” declared the Irishman, after a critical exam- 
ination. 

“ Felix thought you could show me how to cure it,” 
said Norman. 

Shure,” responded Barney, cordially, “ but it’s a 
sacret prociss Oi hov. Jist lave me take the skin, an’ 
Oi’ll put it in shape for ye to kape a cintury if ye 
loike.;’ 

“ You’re very kind,” said Norman, gratefully. 

Don’t mintion it,” returned Barney, heartily, as 
he tucked the rolled-up skin under his coat. “ It’s 
deloighted Oi’ll be to do it for ye.” 

The men were early to bed as the severe work of 
the drive was beginning to tell upon them, sj,nd Nor- 
man was at some loss to know when Barney would 
find time to take care of the skin. He knew, however. 


126 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


that having agreed to do it, O’Connor would not fail 
him. 

There was little jesting or story telling that night, 
and in a short time only a few discordant snores broke 
the silence of the camp. 

It was in the early morning when every man was 
awakened with a start by a series of wild shrieks. 

In the faint moonlight they perceived a half-crazed 
man jumping up and down before the camp in a perfect 
frenzy of terror. 

Here yo’ ! ” 

“Wake up!” 

“What ye dreamin’ erbout?” shouted the men, but 
their admonitions only seemed to fill the unhappy man 
with new ferir. 

“ Le diable ! Le diable ! ” he shrieked in terrified 
tones. “He come! He come for get Joe Landre!” 

“ Bosh ! ” said Eustace, impatiently, “ what’s the 
matter with you? What do you mean by waking up 
the whole camp this way?” 

“ Le diable was ban com’ for me,” groaned Landre. 

“ What are you talking about? You’ve been dream- 
ing. You’ve had a nightmare.” 

“No — no!” protested Landre. “ Le diable come. 
He — dere now,” he added, with chattering teeth. 

“Where?” demanded Eustace. 

“ Rat side me on de bunk.” Eustace walked along 
to Landre’s bunk and examined it critically by the 
light of a lantern, “ There’s nothing here, Joe,” he 


WITH TICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 127 


announced. Sure it wasn’t the Windigo, are you?” 
A loud guffaw followed this suggestion to Landre’s 
very evident chagrin. 

‘‘ You say dere ban not’ing in ma bunk? ” he asked, 
incredulously. 

‘‘ Nothing but your boughs and blankets,” returned 
Eustace, reassuringly. 

‘‘ An’ sure it’s nayther one av ’em will bite ye,” said 
Barney O’Connor, scornfully. “ Go back to bed wid 
ye, ye big woild-eyed loonatic — an’ close up yer shriek- 
tank. Let’s hear no more from ye, ye noisy spalpeen. 
Ye desarve to be codfished for wakin’ iverybody up in 
the middle av the noight. Git back to bed wid ye, an’ 
close yer yawp ! ” 

The men sleepily seconded this demand and Landre 
returned to his bunk, convinced against his will that 
his supposed visit from the evil one was really nothing 
more or less than a bad dream, and once more peace 
and quiet reigned over the camp. 

Did Joe Landre really have a dream or did he find 
something uncanny in bed with him?” asked Norman 
of Barney O’Connor the next morning. 

Bedad, thot’s a funny quistion to be askin’ me,” 
returned the Irishman, with an air of injured inno- 
cence. “ Shure an’ what shud I know consarnin’ it ? 
Must I be blamed for ivery mother’s son in this crew 
thot ates too many pork an’ banes, an’ wakes up in 
the noight wid a conniption fit ? ” 

“Certainly not,” said Norman, promptly; “but you 


128 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


know, Barney, that some of us imagine that you are 
responsible for most of the deviltry in this camp, and 
Joe Landre claims to have seen the devil.’^ 

“ It’s wrong agin, ye are,” declared Barney. “ He 
only said thot he felt ’im, which is worse, poor lad. 
Ah ! the pity av it ! ” 

Right between you and me, Barney,” said Norman, 
‘‘what did he feel?” 

“ Whist ! Oi’ll be tellin’ av ye in confidence,” said 
the Irishman, with a quick glance around to make sure 
that no one was listening. “ Ye see I was afther killin’ 
all the germs on that coon av yours. It’s part of the 
tratement, an’ shure Oi cud think o’ nothin’ betther 
than to lay thot skin along soide av Joe Landre — 
steeped that he is wid tobac Canayen, as they call it, 
and let him breathe upon it and steriloize it.” 

“So that was the first process, was it?” laughed 
Norman. 

“ It was thot — an’ a good wan,” said Barney, 
solemnly. “ Ivrything was cornin’ along foine, an’ the 
skin was a curin’ most illegant, when what shud thot 
spalpeen do but wake up in the noight an’ fale av it. 
Bedad, it raised the back hair av him. Whilst he was 
cavortin’ around in front av the camp, explainin’ things 
to Billy and the men, I sneaked the skin out of his 
bunk and hid it under the boughs in me own. Ye see 
the byes were a little excoited, an’ I’d no idee of bein’ 
a candidate for another duckin’.” 

“ You were very wise, Barney,” laughed Norman. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 129 


Sol Soc helped me start the skin this mornin’ 
before loight, an’ we’ll have it so ye can kape it widout 
fear in a very short toime. Now moind thot ye whist.” 

With this parting admonition Barney made his way 
to the river with the men of the crew. 


CHAPTER XI 


AN ADVENTURE WITH CAMP THIEVES 

Below Grand Pitch the drive progressed with com- 
paratively little interruption, one strenuous day suc- 
ceeding another. A considerable number of the men 
worked on the rear drive pushing out the stray logs 
that still lingered in the eddies and lodged along the 
shores. The nights were growing warm with the 
advance of June. 

The big camp fires had given way to heavy smoke 
smudges that smouldered in front of the big camp 
tents, to keep off the mosquitoes, black flies and midges 
that swarmed out of a thousand moist and bosky shel- 
ters to prey upon the men. 

A mosquito is wholly vile and there’s only one 
redeeming feature about a black fly,” groaned Nor- 
man, as he rolled about in his bunk one sultry night, 
unable to sleep from the exquisite tortures inflicted by 
the blood-thirsty insects that invaded the camp. 

“What’s that?” asked Fred Warner. 

“ He’ll stay in one place while you kill him.” 

“Huh! Nothing gained,” grunted Warner. “A 
dozen more will come to the funeral.” 

“ I reckon that’s so,” admitted Norman. “ At any 
130 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 131 


rate, he’s fair enough to come at you by daylight. 
It’s the mosquito who robs you of your sleep.” 

And the worst of it is that he skips around so lively 
that you can’t tell from the songs he sings whether 
there’s one or a million of him,” growled Fred. 

“ I ran into a swarm of midges or ‘ no-see-ums ’ as 
Sol Soc calls them, this afternoon,” continued Norman. 
“ Tell you there was something doing for a while.” 

You and I are at a disadvantage here,” declared 
Fred, in tones of disgust. “No mosquito, or black fly 
or midge would think of biting one of the men. It 
would be like gnawing a piece of leather. They just 
concentrate on us.” 

“No doubt of it,” agreed Norman. 

“ There’s only one thing to do,” continued Fred, as 
he rose from his bunk. “We must start up those 
smudges again.” 

“ There’s no escape from it, I suppose,” said Nor- 
man, in a tone of resignation, “ but it’s a case where 
the remedy is about as bad as the disease.” 

A little later, with heavy smudges in full blast, they 
succeeded in falling asleep. 

“ Fly biteum ? ” asked Sol Soc, as he paused beside 
Norman after breakfast. 

“ They are making life a burden for me,” confessed 
Norman. 

“ Useum this,” said the Indian, putting a black bottle 
into his hand. 

When the men had gone Norman poured some of the 


132 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


liquid Sol had given him into his hand, and exhibited 
it to Fred Warner. It was a dark colored compound, 
thick and oily. 

Phew ! ” exclaimed the cookee, with a wry face. 

It’s got an able-bodied odor all right.” 

There’s oil, and tar, and pennyroyal and turpen- 
tine, and the virtues of a whole multitude of roots and 
herbs in it,” laughed Norman. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if it did the business, how- 
ever,” replied Fred — a prophecy that proved true. 
Villainous as the compound appeared, and sticky and 
uncomfortable as it felt on face and hands, its use, 
nevertheless, relieved Norman and Fred of further 
serious trouble from insect pests. 

“ Ba Joe ! ” exclaimed Felix Lamarre, a few morn- 
ings later, som’ wan ban steal heem pork out de 
wangan tent.” 

Are you sure ? ” demanded Eustace, as he accom- 
panied him to the wangan tent, followed by a number 
of the men. 

‘‘ Sure t’ing,” declared Felix. ‘‘ Jus’ you look on 
top dat pork,” he added, pointing to a large barrel that 
stood near the front of the tent. 

“ Been using out of it, haven’t you ? ” demanded 
Eustace. 

“ Yass, but we nevaire use all dat. Dere ban more 
gone as nevaire was.” 

You mean that there’s more gone than you’ve 
used ? ” questioned Eustace. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 133 


You bat ! two, tree, mebbe four time more ! ” 

‘‘ Man no takum,’' declared Sol Soc, who had been 
making a critical examination of the tent and its sur- 
roundings. 

‘‘ Who did then ? demanded Eustace. 

Bear.’^ 

“Why do you think so?^’ 

“ Seeum track.’’ 

The Indian stooped beside the path leading to the 
river bank and pointed to an indistinct track in the 
black soil between two ledges. 

“ Guess you’re right, Sol,” agreed Eustace, after a 
moment’s inspection. “ It’s a trifle faint, but there’s 
no doubt about it. The thief was a bear all right.” 

“ Begorra an’ Oi’m thinkin’ thot’s not the worst av 
it,” declared O’Connor. 

“ Right you are, Barney,” assented Eustace. “ When 
a bear gets an appetite for pork he’s worse than a dog 
with a mouth for mutton. There’s no hope of reform 
for him. You may scare him off for a dozen nights 
in succession, but he’ll turn up again the very first time 
he thinks that the coast is clear. We’ve got to kill 
this fellow, or he’ll follow the drive clear down to 
Greenbush.” 

“ Me fixum,” said the Indian. 

“ All right, Sol,” returned Eustace. “ You lay for 
him. If you can’t get him, nobody can.” 

Norman was eating his supper that evening on a 
big boulder overlooking the river, when he was sud- 


134 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


denly aware that some one was sharing his seat. He 
turned quickly to find that it was Sol Soc. 

‘‘ How do you move, Sol, without making any 
noise ? ” he asked, with a laugh. 

Learnum how from Windigo,’' returned the Indian, 
solemnly. 

“ It was an excellent school,” laughed Norman. 

“ You an' Fred like huntum bear? ” asked the Indian, 
gravely. 

“Sure, we would!” returned Norman, eagerly. 

“ Gotum finger light?” 

“Yes, right here,” returned Norman, pulling his 
electric lantern from his hip pocket. 

“ Good ! ” grunted the Indian, in a tone of satis- 
faction. “ Wind he blow stlong from river to-night,” 
he added. “ Bear no smellum.” 

A little later, with their blankets spread in a thick 
clump of firs overlooking the wangan tent, Norman 
and Fred were keeping a night vigil, taking turns in 
staying awake for that purpose. A short distance up 
the road in another fir thicket, which commanded a 
view of the path leading down from the old wood- 
road, on which the camp was located, to the river, Sol 
Soc was keeping a similar watch. 

It was a little past midnight when Norman, who was 
sleeping very quietly, was aroused by Fred's hand upon 
his shoulder. 

“ Sh-h-h,” whispered the cookee, warningly, as his 
companion sat up on his blanket. “He's coming?” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 135 

‘'Who's coming?” demanded Norman, in a low 
tone. 

“ The thief.” 

They peered breathlessly through the low spreading 
boughs that hid their retreat, and their hearts beat fast 
as they saw a dark, lumbering form coming down the 
road. 

“ It's a bear! ” whispered Fred in Norman's ear, in 
a voice tremulous with excitement. 

Arriving at the open door of the wangan tent the 
night marauder paused and listened intently. Evidently 
satisfied that all was well, he passed within. 

“ Better take him when he comes out,” whispered 
Fred. “ He’ll have his attention taken up with the 
pork, and won’t be so likely to notice us.” 

“ Just what I was thinking,” agreed Norman. 

“ Sh-h-h,” whispered Fred, warningly. “ Great 
Scott! there's another one.” 

Looming indistinctly in the dark, another form was 
making its way with slow and stealthy tread up the 
old wood-road in the direction of the wangan. 

“ That's no bear. It’s a man,” whispered Norman. 

“ Perhaps it's Sol,” answered Fred. 

“ No, it isn’t,” returned Norman, emphatically. 

“Go slow! Don’t be too sure,” admonished Fred. 

The newcomer had by this time reached the corner 
of the wangan tent. Here like his predecessor, he 
paused a moment to listen, but. no sound save the 
mourning of the wind among the swaying tree-tops 


136 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


broke the silence of the night. Evidently satisfied that 
the coast was clear, the newcomer tiptoed forward and 
entered the tent. 

Almost immediately an angry growl from the wan- 
gan, followed by a wild shriek of terror, broke the 
silence of the night. Norman threw a long stream of 
light upon the wangan door in season to see a strange- 
looking man come reeling out of the tent, and fall 
sprawling to the ground. A big black bear immedi- 
ately followed, and bounding over the prostrate man, 
tore up the wood-road with long bounds, from which 
direction, a moment later, the sharp crack of a rifle 
broke the stillness of the night. 

“ Come on! ” shouted Norman, as he raced excitedly 
from his hiding place. “ Let’s get him.” 

He dashed forward with Fred close at his heels, and 
threw himself upon the man in front of the wangan. 

WeVe got you,” he panted. You might as well 
give up. Hold his legs there, Fred!” 

The tones of his voice seemed to put new life into 
the discomfited thief. 

So it was you who hit me,” he gasped. ‘‘ I thought 
’twas a bear.” 

He rolled and twisted with wonderful, wiry strength. 
A long, bony hand grasped Norman by the collar and 
pulled him to the ground, while two long legs which 
had been “ jack-knifed ” under Fred Warner suddenly 
straightened out and sent the cookee flat upon his back 
in the direction of the wangan. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 137 


The intruder would probably have made good his 
escape, had it not been for the prompt arrival of assist- 
ance. A dark form dashed up the wood-road, and 
threw itself upon the struggling thief. 

‘‘ Arrah ! ye spalpeen, an’ is it a foight ye’d be 
wantin’ ? ” shouted a familiar voice. “ Shure it’s not 
Barney O’Connor as wud let ony mon suffer for a 
scrap.” 

Norman tore himself free from the clutch of the 
thief, and threw a stream of light upon the struggling 
men. 

“ Good for ye, me bye,” said O’Connor. Sure ’tis 
a pleasure for to look a good scrapper in the face.” 

The sight revealed by the electric light was a most 
surprising one. O’Connor sat astride the chest of a 
tall, gaunt man whose dark eyes blazed in a wild frenzy 
of fear. The stranger’s hair and beard were snow- 
white, the former falling to his shoulders, and the latter 
extending well down his chest. Both were tangled 
and unkempt. 

“ Be gorry, and Oi rickin it’s the rale Windigo Oi’m 
afther havin’ this toime,” declared the Irishman, in a 
tone of amazement. 

Fred Warner rose a little unsteadily from the ground 
and stood choking and wheezing by the door of the 
wangan tent. 

“Are you hurt, Fred?” cried Norman, anxiously. 

“ N-no,” gasped the cookee. “ H-he knocked the 
wind out of me.” 


138 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Sure, an’ there’s plinty more av it on tap this 
noight,” said Barney, consolingly. 

‘‘ Th-thanks,” returned Fred, dryly. 

A tall form came rapidly down the wood-road. 

‘‘You gotum?” questioned a guttural voice. 

“ Toighter’n a bug in a rug,” returned Barney, 
cheerfully. 

“ Good!” 

There was a flash of lanterns, and a hum of voices, 
from the direction of the big camps. Presently the 
members of the crew put in an appearance in a tumult 
of excitement. They gazed with amazement upon the 
strange captive, who, his arms thoroughly bound with 
shingle rope, stood panting and wild-eyed, between Sol 
Soc and Barney O’Connor. 

“ It’s the old man o’ the mountain himself ! ” 
exclaimed Eustace, as he gazed upon him in unfeigned 
astonishment. “ Where do you suppose he blew 
from ? ’.’ 

“ Sure it’s the rale Windigo,” declared Barney 
O’Connor, solemnly, an assertion that called forth a 
gust of boisterous laughter from the men. 

“ Thought you said it was a bear, Sol,” observed 
Eustace, in a bantering tone. 

“ Ya-as. Me gotum,” replied the Indian, stolidly. 

“ Got a bear too I ” exclaimed Eustace, incredulously. 
“Where is he?” 

“ Up de road lil piece.” 

“ You see there were two thieves,” explained Nor- 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 139 


man, ‘‘ the bear and the old fellow here. The bear 
got into the wangan first. The old fellow wasn’t far 
behind him, but he didn’t linger long in the tent.” 

“ Looked as if the bear gave him the grand bounce,” 
added Fred Warner. 

Exclamations of wonder came from the men of the 
crew at this story. 

Begorra, an’ Oi’m thinkin’ as ’twas moighty lucky 
for th’ ole gint here thot th’ bear was contint wid givin’ 
him a gintle cuff wid its paw,” declared Barney O’Con- 
nor. “ It’s only a grase spot or two as wud been lift 
av him, if the ole feller had taken a notion for t’ hug 
him.” 

“ I guess he had a narrow escape all right,” agreed 
Eustace. “ Take him up to the camp, boys. Some 
of you had better go up the road with your lanterns 
and bring in Sol’s bear.” 

The captive was taken to the camp where he was 
given a seat upon a small boulder^ and securely tied 
to a white birch which stood immediately behind it. 

A little later a group of the men reached camp carry- 
ing upon their shoulders two long poles, from which 
hung the big carcass of Sol Soc’s bear. It was a 
massive brute in fair flesh, and with visions of fresh 
steaks for breakfast Sol and several of the men soon 
had it hung from improvised shambles suspended from 
a near-by tree, and devoted a considerable portion of 
the remainder of the night to the task of skinning and 
dressing it. 


140 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


I shouldn’t wonder if that bear paid for the pork 
he and the old fellow have stolen several times over,” 
remarked Eustace, as he returned to camp after watch- 
ing this work for a few moments. 

An’ sure ye don’t think they were goin’ cahoots, 
do ye ? ” questioned O’Connor, with twinkling eyes. 

‘‘ I guess not,” admitted Eustace, “ although it looks 
to me as if one of them was about as wild as the 
other.” 

‘‘ I don’t believe the old man ever stole any of our 
pork,” declared Norman, with emphasis. I don’t 
think he ever got a chance to.” 

“Think the bear choked him off, do you?” ques- 
tioned Eustace. 

“ I haven’t any doubt of it,” declared Norman. 

“ Good ! ” interposed Sol Soc, who had overheard 
the conversation. 

“ I see Sol agrees with you, so I reckon you must 
be right,” said Eustace, good-naturedly. “ Still, we’ll 
hold him over night. He’s a rare bird, and I’d really 
like to get a good square look at him by daylight.” 

He passed along to where the prisoner sat, and 
looked down upon his gaunt and weazened visage with 
a curious interest. 

“ What’s your name ? ” he demanded presently. 

The prisoner looked at him with frightened eyes. 
His lips moved, but no sound came from them. 

“ What did you say ? ” questioned Eustace. 

“ Dave Umber,” gasped the prisoner. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY ui 


Eustace turned to Norman and tapped his forehead 
significantly. “ Cracked there/^ he said, ‘‘ and pretty 
nigh scared to death.” 

“ I don’t believe he’s used to this thing,” declared 
Norman, with ready sympathy. “ He’s a poor old 
man, and I hope the boys won’t be rough with him.” 

“ I’ll answer for that,” declared Eustace. “ No man 
was ever yet allowed to go away hungry from a camp 
of mine. Still, there are a few formalities I’ve always 
insisted on. One was that they should come to me 
like men in the daytime when some of the folks were 
around. I don’t like this middle of the night business ; 
but I’ll see to it that Old Father Time gets a fair 
show.” 

I knew you would,” responded Norman. ‘‘ I’m 
very sure from the looks of him that he’s simply some 
poor, demented, harmless old fellow, who shrank from 
meeting the crew, and who simply undertook to levy 
on us for a meal.” 

Eustace turned abruptly on his heel and walked back 
to the prisoner. 

“ Where do you live ? ” he asked. 

In the heart,” responded the old man, in thin, 
tremulous tones. 

In the heart of what ? ” persisted Eustace. 

The bog — by the still beaver waters.” 

“Live in a beaver house — do you?” 

“Yes — my beaver house,” was the low response. 
The eyes of the prisoner were full of the wild fear of 


142 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


a hunted beast. Don’t — don’t question me further, 
ye apostle of the host,” he entreated, in a quaking 
voice. 

Eustace turned away, impatiently. 

Crazy as a bedbug,” he declared, with emphasis. 
“ I reckon we’d better sleep on it and decide in the 
morning what to do with him. See that he is well 
fed, Barney, and stow him away comfortably for the 
rest of the night,” he added, to O’Connor. “ Now let’s 
turn in, boys. There’s isn’t much left of the night 
but we must make the most of it. We’ve some hard 
work to do to-morrow.” 

There was a general turning in of the men, save 
Sol Soc and one or two others who were engaged in 
dressing the bear, and in a short time the big camps 
and their occupants were wrapt in solitude and slumber. 



Working out a wing jam. — Page 142. 





CHAPTER XII 


OFF FOR CHAMBERLAIN LAKE 

“Oh, de wir man o’ Borneo’s jus’ com’ along, 

De wil’ man o’ Borneo’s jus’ com’ along, 

De wil’ man o’ Borneo’s jus’ com’ along. 

For ring dem’ charmin’ bells ! 

Hooraw ! ” 

The members of the crew were just beginning break- 
fast when they joined in this song at the expense of 
their long-haired and cadaverous looking prisoner. 
Eustace was visibly annoyed. 

“ Shut up ! he said peremptorily. “ There’s no call 
for any of you to pester him. He’s behaving himself 
a blame sight better than you are.” 

The weird old night-prowler had been brought from 
the camp bed where he had passed the night. The 
ropes had been removed from his hands and feet, 
affording him an opportunity to stretch his cramped 
limbs. 

Ye’ll not be afther takin’ Frinch lafe if Oi’m 
lavin’ thim off, will ye ? ” asked Barney O’Connor, as 
he performed this service for the prisoner. 

“ No,” promised the stranger. 

Hungry ? ” inquired the Irishman. 

Yes.” 


143 


144 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Here, Fred, fetch a peck o’ fodder for the Win- 
digo,” shouted Barney to Warner, who was hurrying 
by on his way to the cook’s tent. “ Bring the ould 
bye an extra large hunk av thot bear mate.” 

In a short time the prisoner was supplied with a 
generous breakfast, which he ate ravenously. 

“ It’s very ivident that the wild man o’ Borneo’s 
got an aching void in his stomach,” declared Barney, 
an allusion which moved some of the crew to the burst 
of song that had aroused the ire of Eustace. 

The prisoner was bolting his food with astonishing 
rapidity, closely watching the crew meanwhile with his 
small round eyes that darted furtive glances from side 
to side in evident apprehension lest some unseen trouble 
might be lying in wait for him. 

Bear steak was the principal feature of the breakfast, 
and was served in generous quantity. It was the first 
Norman had ever tasted, and although he was not 
wholly reconciled to its wild flavor, he nevertheless 
managed to dispose of the small piece with which he 
had permitted Warner to serve him. It was evident 
that this part of the meal was especially relished by 
the prisoner, and as Norman watched him holding the 
large slice which he had been provided with in his long, 
bony fingers, and eagerly tearing it apart with his 
discolored teeth, he could not resist the conviction that, 
after all, Barney O’Connor had not been far out of 
the way in calling him “ the wild man of Borneo.” 

“ Well, boys, what shall we do with the old fellow? ” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 145 


demanded Eustace a moment later, having recovered 
his usual equanimity. 

“ Geeve heem de codfeesh.” 

Souse heem in reever.” 

Shoot heem,'’ were some of the punishments sug- 
gested by the crew. 

Well, what do you say, Felix? ” asked Eustace of 
the cook, who had come out from his tent to watch 
proceedings. 

‘‘ I t’ink he go for steal pork, we better drown heem 
een barrel of bean,” was the solemn response. 

But that would be a shameful waste of beans,” 
objected the boss, with an air of seriousness. 

“ Wall, you want for feex heem cheap, I gass you 
better hang heem in tree,” declared Felix. 

“ Hang me ! Shoot me ! Drown me ! Oh, ye 
accursed fiends ! ye forsaken of the Lord ! ” shrieked 
the prisoner, in shrill tones, leaping wildly to his feet 
in a frenzy of fear. 

Sit down wid ye,” said Barney O’Connor. Don’t 
be afther gettin’ woolly. Shure I’d not lave one o’ 
the spalpeens tetch a hair av yes head.” 

The prisoner reseated himself, and resumed the 
destruction of his bear steak, to which he had clung 
tenaciously, in spite of his apparent terror. 

“ Bedad, it’s hard separatin’ a dog from his bone,” 
declared O’Connor, a remark which called forth a roar 
of laughter from the men. 

Father Time doesn’t appear to be gifted with gab. 


146 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


I fear he has never kissed the blarney stone,” said 
Eustace. He has, however, one friend here in camp 
who believes in his innocence, and Fm going to ask 
him to speak for the prisoner at the — ” 

“ Grub,” interposed Barney O’Connor. 

‘‘ Well, let it go at that,” laughed Eustace. We’ll 
listen for a moment to Mr. Norman Carver.” 

Norman rose to his feet in some bewilderment at 
this unexpected call, to the very evident enjoyment of 
the men. 

‘‘ Speech!” 

“ Speet heem rat out I ” 

“ Throw ye’silf, me bye ! ” they shouted to him, in 
jovial tones. 

I didn’t expect this job, boys,” said Norman, good- 
naturedly. Eustace has put it up on me ; but I will 
say this. I think you will all agree with me that our 
genial friend here, Mr. Dave Umber, is as harmless as 
he is talkative, and as innocent as he is handsome.” 

Shouts of “ yass,” “ yass,” “ bat you life,” “ go on,” 
from the grinning men, greeted this statement. 

“ He lives his peaceful life in the heart of the bog, 
by the still beaver water,” continued Norman. “ All 
of you know where that is.” 

“ Sure t’ing,” “ yass,” “ yass,” laughed the men. 

It is an outrage to call this man a thief,” asserted 
Norman, solemnly. “ He was ranging the woods last 
night in search of game, when he discovered a large 
black bear stealing along this wood-road. He promptly 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 147 


took his trail and followed him up, determined to secure 
him if he could, and at all events prevent him from 
doing any mischief. Fred Warner and I saw him 
not very far behind him. Old Bruin went into the 
wangan tent to steal our pork and our brave friend 
followed him there, with little if any hesitation. There 
was an encounter — a scrap between Dave and the 
bear. It is true that Old Bruin knocked him out in 
a short time; but that should not be held against our 
good friend. It was not an equal contest, and no doubt 
he did his best. I want to call your attention to the 
fact that we saved our pork and got some good bear 
meat beside.’' 

‘‘ Sure t’ing.” “ Dat ban so,” laughed the men. 

‘‘ What punishment would you suggest ? ” interposed 
Eustace. 

‘‘Punishment!” echoed Norman, in well-feigned 
amazement. “ I say it is not a case for punishment 
at all. The distinguished services of our friend entitle 
him to a reward.” 

“ And what shall it be ? ” laughed Eustace. 

“ I would suggest that he be given a good sized 
chunk of the pork he saved, a forequarter of the bear, 
and allowed to depart in peace.” 

“What do you say, boys?” demanded Eustace. 

“ Yass,” “ Yass,” shouted the men. 

“ It is a vote,” announced Eustace. “ Fred, put 
some pork and bear meat in one of those meal bags.” 

As the cookee hastened to carry out these instruc- 


148 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


tions, Norman resumed his seat. The prisoner rose 
to his feet, and walked over to him. 

‘‘You’re a good boy,” he said, in quavering tones, 
placing a bony hand on Norman’s head. “ You stood 
up for Dave Umber. He will not forget it.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” returned Norman, very red in 
the face. 

The old prisoner looked like a patriarch as he 
towered above the boy in the dim light of the early 
morning. There was something weird in his appear- 
ance that touched the superstitious natures of the men. 
They forbore to laugh, and a strange hush fell upon 
them. 

Fred Warner brought the well-filled meal bag, and 
handed it to Umber. 

The old man threw it across his shoulder. He 
started up the wood-road with it and then, pausing a 
short distance beyond the big wangan tent, he turned 
and faced them. 

“ Good-bye,” he shouted in tremulous tones, with a 
wave of his long arm. 

“ Good-bye,” they answered. 

The old man turned abruptly to his right and dis- 
appeared among the fir-trees. 

“ That’s a character,” said Eustace, with a sigh of 
relief, when he had passed from sight, “ the strangest 
one I have ever run across in all my experience. I 
reckon we are well rid of him. Now, boys, for the 
logs,” and, followed by the members of the crew, he 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 149 


made his way down the boulder-studded pathway lead- 
ing to the river. 

The Sebois drive was rapidly nearing its close. 
Already the advance logs were entering the East 
Branch of the Penobscot. It would be but a day or 
two before the Sebois rear drive would follow them, 
and Eustace and his men be merged in the larger force 
that was handling the main drive on the East Branch. 

The following morning a tall, wiry, resolute-looking 
man put in an appearance at the camp. 

“ Where’s Eustace ? ” he demanded, briefly. 

“ He’s on the river with the crew,” responded Nor- 
man. “ Did you want to see him ? ” 

“ Yes, as soon as I can,” responded the stranger. 
“ I think he’d better come here. Tell him that Steve 
Merrill wants to see him.” 

‘‘ I’ll go and get him,” responded Norman, promptly. 

Steve Merrill, the East Branch boss! Norman could 
not help stealing another glance at this sunburned, 
strong-featured, square- jawed man whose skill and 
daring he had heard discussed around many a camp- 
fire, and whose very name was one to conjure with on 
East Branch waters. 

Norman hastened away to get Eustace, whom he 
found directing the men in working out a small wing 
jam that had lodged against the shore. 

“ Steve Merrill is at the camp and wants to see you 
there,” he announced. 

Eustace gave a whistle of surprise. 


150 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“Steve Merrill!” he ejaculated. “Something’s 
doing or he wouldn’t be leaving his work on the East 
Branch and coming up here.” 

He hurried back to the camp with Norman, where 
he found Merrill pacing nervously up and down in 
front of the big tents. 

He greeted Eustace cordially, and while Norman 
withdrew to the cook’s camp the two men stood apart 
by themselves in very earnest conversation. 

“ The Allegash fellows have got in their work,” 
announced Merrill. 

“ I was afraid they meant mischief,” returned Eus- 
tace. 

“ That’s just what they did. A gang of them dyna- 
mited the dam at the outlet of Chamberlain Lake last 
night.” 

“ You don’t say I ” exclaimed Eustace, in amazement. 
“ I never thought they’d go to that length.” 

“ Nor I either,” agreed Merrill. “ Mind you, Billy, 
I don’t lay it up against the Allegash operators. I 
know they’ve never gotten over the loss of the Cham- 
berlain Lake waters; but I don’t believe they’d counte- 
nance anything of this sort. I judge it was a little 
side issue with some of their understrappers.” 

“ Did they take it all out ? ” 

“ No, just loosened her up at the northwest end. 
I reckon we can fix it; but meanwhile we need every 
drop of the water that they’re getting from us. Have 
you got some one who knows this country and who 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 151 


can range over it and blow out the beaver dams? If 
we get that water it will help to tide us along while 
we are repairing the dam.” 

“ I have a Frenchman who knows every inch of this 
section. Fll fit him up and start him out right away.” 

‘‘ That’s good. Tell him not to let any grass grow 
under his feet. Now for the dam. I’ve got half a 
dozen men there now and two or three on the way. 
I want you to take three or four of your best and 
nerviest men and go up and take charge of the repairs. 
Better take along a gun apiece. If those fellows try 
to finish their job just see that they get a mighty warm 
reception. You’d better plan for a couple of men to 
scout the woods for you while the work is going on.” 

“ I’ve got two bright, active young fellows with me 
who can do that work first rate,” returned Eustace. 

One of them is clerk, and the other cookee. I can 
put old Jim Benner in charge of the crew until they 
join you on the East Branch. Jud Skinner can act 
as his assistant. He is a good driver but hasn’t so 
good a head as Benner. I can let a young Frenchman 
I have in the crew act as cookee. He’s done such work 
before.” 

That’s all right, Billy,” said Merrill, with approval. 
“ I’m mighty glad you were available for this work. 
If you hadn’t been I really don’t know what I should 
have done. I have hardly a man to spare. They 
couldn’t have chosen a worse time, so far as I’m con- 
cerned, to get in this rap at us.” 


152 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


It’s going to be something of a jaunt from here 
to the Chamberlain Lake dam,” said Eustace, “ some 
sixty-four or five miles from the juncture of the Sebois 
and the East Branch, and that’s a good six miles from 
here.” 

‘‘ I reckon, Billy, if you strike across the old Davis 
tote-road half a mile from here you’ll just about come 
out on the East Branch at Monument Line. It will 
be a fifteen-mile jaunt from there to the foot of Grand 
Lake. Jake Wiley is there in charge of the dam. 
He’s got two big canoes you can take. Sports would 
require about three days to paddle and carry from there 
to Chamberlain dam; but I’m counting on you doing 
it in about half the time. The tow-boat will meet you 
at the foot of Telos.” 

We’ll certainly get there as soon as we can,” said 
Eustace. When do you want us to start ? ” 

‘‘ Right away. This very morning. You’d better 
go as light as possible. Pack up your extra dunnage 
and leave it with Benner. We’ve got a fair stock of 
provisions at the camp at Chamberlain dam, pork, 
beans, etc. With what you can carry in light stuff 
I think there’ll be plenty.” 

‘‘Hi there! Norman and Fred,” shouted Eustace. 

Both boys, feeling confident that something was up, 
responded to the call with alacrity. In a few words 
Eustace explained the situation to them, and told them 
of his desire for them to accompany him to the 
Chamberlain dam, to which they assented most gladly, 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 153 


delighted at the unexpected opening for a change. 
Fred was dispatched to the river to summon Jim 
Benner, Sol Soc, Barney O’Connor, Tom Boggs, and 
Joe Landre. In a short time they were at the camp, 
and the situation was explained to them. All of them 
were vehement in their denunciations of the outrage 
that had been perpetrated in the attempted blowing up 
of the dam. It was quickly arranged for Barney, Sol, 
and Long Tom to accompany Eustace, Benner to take 
charge of the closing up of the drive on the Sebois, 
with Jud Skinner for his assistant, and Joe Landre 
to go through the surrounding section, and blow out 
the beaver dams. 

The work of preparing for the trip was quickly 
accomplished. A pack was arranged for each man, 
and in addition most of the party carried guns, Norman 
taking along his double-barreled, hammerless shot-gun, 
and Fred wearing on his belt a six-shooter Colt’s 
revolver, which had been a heritage from his father. 

Barney O’Connor and Sol Soc carried Winchester 
rifles, and Tom Boggs an old breech-loading Spring- 
field rifle, whose barrel had been cut off to convert it 
into a carbine, which Barney solemnly asserted to be 
equally dangerous at either end. 

“ I never did like gun play very well,” declared Long 
Tom, good-naturedly, in response to the Irishman’s 
comment upon his antiquated weapon. “ I’d a blame 
sight rather come to close quarters, an’ lay to with my 
fists.” 


154 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Bedad, it’s iver so much more excoiting an’ not 
half as dangerous,” assented Barney, with enthusiasm. 

“ I guess ni stay here until to-morrow morning,” 
said Merrill to Eustace, ‘‘ and help Benner straighten 
matters out with the crew.” 

It’s a good idea,” rejoined Eustace, “ although Jim 
has had experience in handling men on the drive, and 
I don’t think he’ll have any trouble with them. They’re 
not a bad lot.” 

I reckon we’ll manage t’ keep house,” said Benner, 
‘‘ though I don’t mind saying, Mr. Merrill, that a word 
or two from you will go a long way in starting matters 
off on the right track with the men.” 

“ Well, good-bye all,” said Eustace, as he shouldered 
his pack. We’ll see you later.” 

There was a general shaking of hands and then the 
members of the party followed in single file behind 
Eustace, as he led the way, with quick, swinging stride, 
up the old wood-road in the direction of the East 
Branch. 

I’ll eat my hat if there isn’t a surprised crew of 
men on the Sebois when the boys hear of this,” 
remarked Long Tom Boggs, with a chuckle, as they 
walked along. 

“ They know something’s up,” returned Eustace. 
“ There’s been so many of us called from our work 
to-day.” 

“ I hope we’ll have a chance to get back on that 
Allegash gang,” added Boggs. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 155 


The murtherin^ spalpeens ! ” exclaimed Barney 
O’Connor, indignantly. 

Eustace laughed, grimly. 

I should think that your chances for it were fairly 
good,” he said. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A TRIP THROUGH THE LAKE COUNTRY 

I 

‘'Well, are you petered, boys?’' 

Eustace stopped, and turned to Norman and Fred 
Warner as he asked this question. 

“ I can’t deny that I’m a little tired, but a good 
way from petered yet,” responded Norman, with a 
smile. 

“ Don’t stop on my account,” said Warner. 

“ I’m anxious to make Grand Lake to-night,” said 
Eustace. “ I know it’s a good deal of a jaunt with the 
roads as rough as we have found them; but we sha’n’t 
have to walk to-morrow, except round the carries. I 
don’t feel that we ought to lose any time in getting to 
Chamberlain Lake dam.” 

“ We are good for it,” declared Norman. 

“ Well, I don’t believe we’ll lose anything in the long 
run if we stop and enjoy a breathing spell now and 
then,” said Eustace, as he seated himself on a big 
windfall by the roadside, an example that Norman and 
Fred very gladly followed. 

Sol Soc was visibly impatient, and remained standing. 

“ I know this isn’t much of a walk for you, Sol,” 
said Eustace. “ Perhaps you and Barney better go 
156 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 157 


along to Grand Lake to get supper and fix up a lean-to 
for ns” 

“ Better count me in, too,’’ said Boggs. 

“ All right,” rejoined Eustace. “ Go ahead. That 
will save time and give the rest of us a chance to take 
the tramp a little more leisurely. Don’t suppose you 
boys will mind a late supper.” 

‘‘ Not at all,” said Fred. 

I don’t think I need one,” declared Norman. ‘‘ I 
ate about twice as big a dinner as I really should have; 
but I had a ravenous appetite, and Lamarre’s biscuits 
did taste unusually good.” 

Felix is the best woods cook I ever had,” said 
Eustace. “ I don’t know how we shall make out at 
the Chamberlain dam. It may be a case of draft.” 

We may find a prize,” suggested Norman, hope- 
fully. 

“ Perhaps,” said Eustace, doubtfully. As near as 
I can reckon we got away from camp about nine 
o’clock,” he continued, looking at his watch. It’s 
three o’clock now, and here we are at the foot of 
Bowlin Pitch. As I figure it out we’ve come about 
fifteen miles, not so very bad considering the loads 
we’ve carried, and the roads we’ve had.” 

I understood Barney to say that the first rough 
water we should come to would be Grand Falls,” 
remarked Norman. 

So it is — the lower part of it,” assented Eustace. 

You see the next four miles above us is made up of 


158 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


a succession of pitches, the water racing down hill all 
the way, like a house afire. Coming down the river 
there’s Pond Pitch, Grand Pitch, Hulling Machine 
Falls, and Bowlin Pitch — one after the other and 
covering, all told, about four miles of pretty lively 
water. All of them taken together make up what is 
known as the Grand Falls of the East Branch.” 

“There’s another Grand Falls, isn’t there?” asked 
Warner. 

“ Yes. That’s up on Webster stream, a short dis- 
tance above its confluence with the East Branch. I tell 
you there’s a stretch of wild water there ! The current 
takes a down jump of fifty feet at the falls.” 

“ How far do you think it is to Grand Lake from 
here?” asked Fred. 

“ About a dozen miles,” responded Eustace. 

“ We sha’n’t get there till nearly eight o’clock at the 
rate we’ve been going,” said Norman. 

“We ought to make it by seven,” declared Eustace. 
“ That’s only three miles an hour, and we shall have 
full better roads for it.” He rose and readjusted his 
pack. “ We’d better be travelling,” he said. 

An exclamation of surprise came from Norman. 

“ What’s up ? ” inquired Eustace. 

“ My dunnage is gone. I threw it down in the 
bushes at the end of that log.” 

“ So is mine,” said Warner. 

“ It didn’t walk away without legs,” laughed Eus- 
tace. “ Sol and Barney evidently concluded to give 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 159 


you a lift. TheyVe pretty husky fellows, and besides 
theyVe got Tom Boggs along to spell them. You were 
too busy talking when they passed on to notice how 
they were loaded.” 

‘‘ I never dreamed of such a thing as their taking 
my stuff,” declared Warner. 

‘‘Nor I either,” said Norman. “ They must have 
taken us for a couple of softies,” he added, in a tone 
of chagrin. 

“ No, they didn’t,” assured Eustace. “ They knew 
you would lug your load to the end of the trail without 
a whimper. That was one reason why they were so 
willing to let you out.” 

“ You must let us lug your load part of the way,” 
said Norman. 

“ When it gets to riding me too hard. I’ll surely let 
you know,” laughed Eustace, evasively, as he started 
up the trail along the river bank at a considerably faster 
pace than they had been travelling before. 

Relieved of their burdens, save Norman’s shot-gun 
which Warner insisted on carrying a part of the time, 
the boys found it comparatively easy to keep pace with 
their wiry leader, who kept steadily along the river 
bank by the well-worn path which had evidently been 
used by the river drivers. 

It was a wild and picturesque stretch of roaring 
river, running for the most part through black growth, 
that claimed their attention for the next four miles. 
Above Bowlin Pitch was Hulling Machine Falls, racing 


i6o WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


its way over a rock-studded bed, between shores of 
massive ledge. Higher up they looked in admiration 
upon the rushing, roaring, foaming waters of Grand 
Pitch and Pond Pitch. 

Doesn’t look like very good water for a canoe,” 
commented Norman. 

“ Well, hardly,” assented Eustace. “ Indians and 
men specially skilled in the use of the paddle usually 
run Bowlin Pitch, but they almost invariably carry 
around Hulling Machine Falls; also Grand Pitch and 
Pond Pitch.” 

For a time they tramped along in silence, each 
busy with his own reflections. Norman was especially 
impressed with the rugged majesty and strength of 
the wild scenery that hemmed in the roaring, rocky 
river gorge with a bewildering vista of densely wooded 
hills and valleys. 

Haskell’s Rock Pitch,” announced Eustace, a little 
later. ‘‘ We’ll follow the carry road.” 

A walk of about three-quarters of a mile brought 
them above this pitch with its swift-moving white 
waters. For two miles they followed along a wood- 
road that lay beyond the river banks. Presently, they 
stood upon a rugged shore, and gazed with fascinated 
wonder upon a series of cascades, as the foaming water 
came tumbling down over a succession of rocky reefs 
extending from shore to shore. 

“ Stair Falls,” said Eustace. 

'‘And do canoeists run that?” asked Norman, 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY i6i 


“ Almost always, when there is a fair depth of 
water,’' responded the boss. “ It might be a trifle 
ticklish now, but I don’t imagine it would phase Sol 
Soc or Barney O’Connor.” 

‘‘ It’s well named,” said Fred Warner. ** Those 
rock-reefs make a giant’s stairway.” 

“ We’ll cross the river and take the Forty-rod Carry,” 
said Eustace. He drew from the bushes below the 
falls a roughly built, flat-bottomed boat. “ This is 
lucky,” he said, with evident satisfaction. ** I was 
afraid we might have to build a raft.” 

With two rude board paddles which the rough craft 
contained they made their way across the river to the 
opposite shore, where they found the well-beaten road 
of the carry leading up the ascent to the smoother water 
above the falls. They had gone but a short distance 
when Eustace paused and threw down his pack near a 
spring of water that bubbled up from the earth, clear 
and cold. A tin tomato can hung, bottom up, on a 
near-by bush, supplied an ample drinking cup. 

There’s no better water than this anywhere,” 
declared Eustace, as they rested a moment after test- 
ing its virtues, and both the boys signified their assent. 

We’ve made very good time, I think,” said the 
boss, consulting his watch. Only ten minutes past 
five, and we’ve done about seven miles since three 
o’clock.” 

** How far is it from here to Grand Lake ? ” asked 
Norman. 


i 62 with pickpole and peavey 


‘‘ Five miles from the head of this carry. We ought 
to get there in season to have a fairly early supper. 
Sol has got our camp outfit, and they say Tom Boggs 
is something of an artist with a fry-pan.’' 

‘‘ I for one will be entirely ready to test his skill,” 
declared Norman. 

Above Stair Falls they continued their way along the 
river bank by a somewhat rough and devious path, 
whose rugged surface bore mute testimony to the 
impact of spike-sole shoes. 

It was a quarter of seven when they finally came in 
sight of the dam at the foot of Grand Lake. Not far 
away Sol, Boggs, and O’Connor had erected a very 
comfortable lean-to. Near it a fire was burning, and 
the savory odors of cooking food revived their droop- 
ing spirits. 

“Trout, as sure as I’m alive!” exclaimed Eustace, 
joyfully, as he paused beside the fire where Boggs was 
busy with a frying-pan. “ Where did you get them, 
Tom?” 

“ Don’t know,” responded Boggs. “ Barney and I 
told Sol we’d fix up the camp if he’d get us a mess of 
trout. He took us up mighty quick. Borrowed a 
canoe o’ Jake Wiley an’ cleared out. I haven’t the 
slightest notion where he went. Mebbe up Trout Brook 
for all I know. He’s an awful critter t’ cover distance. 
One thing’s sartin, though, he fetched back th’ trout — 
all we can eat on ’em, an’ beauties too.” 

A little later, seated about on some logs that had 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 163 


been junked up for the purpose, the party ate their fill 
of the delicious trout, which had been rolled in Indian 
meal and fried in pork fat, and which came out of the 
frying-pan done to a turn. The trout, with cold bis- 
cuits, hot tea, and some clear, cold water brought from 
a neighboring spring, constituted the entire bill of fare, 
but Norman declared with evident sincerity that he 
had never enjoyed a finer repast. 

At its close Sol, Barney, and Boggs lit their pipes 
to swap news with Jake Wiley, tall, gaunt, and hungry 
for human companionship, who had shared their supper 
with them, and to whom their coming was an unmis- 
takable event. 

“ Who is taking care of the Chamberlain dam ? ” 
asked Eustace, with evident interest. 

“ Sam Wilkins,’' responded Wiley, removing his 
long T. D. pipe from his mouth, and slowly blowing 
a meditative whiff into the air. 

“ Where was he when the Allegash men blew it up ? ” 

“ He was sound asleep in the camp with Jerry Cox 
who was up there doing some repairs on the tug. They 
got out there with their rifles in ’bout two shakes of 
a buck’s tail. Saw in a minute what had been done; 
but th’ fellers as done it had cleared out ; couldn’t find 
hide nor hair on ’em. They fired a few shots where 
they s’pected they’d gone, but. Cracky Jinks! it didn’t 
do no good.” 

Wiley returned his pipe to his mouth, and smoked 
vigorously to get it under full headway again. 


i 64 with pickpole and peavey 


One thing is certain, it gave them notice that 
there’d be something doing if they came back again,” 
suggested Eustace. 

‘‘ Sartin sure,” assented Wiley out of the corner of 
his mouth. “ They wasn’t huntin’ for cold lead. Guess 
they thought when they come there thet Sam and Jerry 
war’n’t to hum. Both on ’em had been out on th’ lake 
in th’ tug thet day. There was suthin’ more Jerry 
wanted t’ do to her. So they tied her up in th’ cove 
below Fir Point, et their supper there an’ come back 
to the camp a little atter dark an’ turned in.” 

“ That’s it,” declared Eustace. “ They thought the 
coast was clear and went ahead. I’ll bet dollars to 
doughnuts they were planning to clean out the tram- 
way, too.” 

“ Like es not,” assented Wiley. “ They’d have got 
a mighty warm reception, though, if they’d showed up 
agin thet night. Sam an’ Jerry was chuck full o’ fight; 
sot up all night a-guardin’ the dam. Next mornin’ 
afore daylight Jerry had up steam in the tug and was 
headed for East Branch waters t’ tell th’ news. He 
got down here ’bout the middle th’ arternoon. I had 
three men with me a-fixin’ up th’ sluiceway. I sent 
two on ’em right back with him, and hustled t’other 
down th’ river t’ tell Steve Merrill what had happened. 
Four men from th’ rear drive showed up here this 
mornin’ hotfoot on their way t’ Chamberlain. This 
noon my man an’ two others come along an’ I hustled 
’em over th’ same trail. They told me Steve Merrill 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 165 


was all riled up over th’ matter, an^ was a-goin’ t’ send 
you up t' take charge o’ th’ campaign. So I had ’em 
leave word with old man Lajoie to have a team ready 
t’ tote your canoes an’ dunnage from the lower end o’ 
Indian Carry to Webster Lake.” 

That’s good,” said Eustace, in a tone of satis- 
faction. 

‘‘ Thet will only leave you the canal between Webster 
and Telos Lakes to carry around,” pursued Wiley. 

It’s only a mile, and we’re good for that,” asserted 
Eustace, confidently. 

“ Begorra, it’s hopin’ for a rid-hot scrap Oi am,” 
joined in Barney O’Connor. 

‘‘ I’m with ye, Barney,” added Tom Boggs, with 
enthusiasm. ^‘Wake up there, Sol!” he added, to 
the Indian, who was stolidly smoking his pipe and 
taking no part in the conversation. “ What d’ye say ? ” 

‘‘ Good ! ” grunted Sol. 

“ Which manes he’ll be there wid both fate wheniver 
he’s naded,” interpreted Barney. 

I shouldn’t wonder if you fellows got about all the 
scrapping you wanted before we get through with this 
matter,” said Eustace. I haven’t any idea that those 
Allegash men will give up without making at least 
one more attempt to finish the job they started out 
to do — especially if Gusty Peters is at the bottom of 
this affair, as I suspect he is.” 

Gusty Peters!” exclaimed Tom Boggs, delight- 
edly. ** I’d be willin’ t’ give a month’s pay fer a 


i66 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


chance t' play another tattoo on thet big, red bugle 
o’ his.” 

“ We mustn’t underestimate him, boys,” cautioned 
Eustace. “ He’s a tenacious fellow, and for all that 
fog-horn voice of his gives strangers the impression 
that he’s pretty much all front, those of us who know 
him will vouch for the fact that he’s a desperate fighter, 
and not over-particular about his methods.” 

I didn’t find him any great shakes that night at 
Larry Hunt’s,” persisted Boggs. 

“ He’d been drinking then, or you wouldn’t have 
found him so easy,” rejoined Eustace. 

Well, then I hope I’ll get a chance to try him out 
when he’s sober.” 

“ It’s a slim chance of it ye’ll hov, Oi’m thinkin’,” 
interposed Barney. 

“ Sech things es thet hev ben known t’ happen,” said 
Boggs. “ So fur as I’m consarned. I’d a good deal 
ruther git a chance at Black Jake Jasper.” 

“ I thought Skinner settled it with him on the road 
to the Sebois,” said Eustace. 

He only gin him th’ first payment,” declared Boggs, 
grimly. 

An’ I reckon Jake put it down to his credit,” said 
Barney. 

I ruther suspicioned from th’ way he eyed Skinner 
an’ th’ rest on us thet night at Larry Hunt’s thet he 
wouldn’t be altogether sorry t’ meet us agin, when mat- 
ters was a-breakin’ better for him,” remarked Boggs. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 167 


“ I’m planning to get that dam fixed up just as soon 
as I can after we get there,” said Eustace. “ While 
that work is going on I’ll let Norman and Fred circle 
round through the woods and see if they can discover 
any signs of those fellows sneaking in on us. Mean- 
while, we’ll keep the dam well guarded day and night.” 

You wouldn’t shoot, would ye? ” demanded Boggs. 

There was an ominous flash in the eyes of the boss, 
and a resolute look in his face. 

“ I should be governed somewhat by circumstances,” 
he said, but I’ll tell you this, boys, any man who 
undertakes to tamper with that dam while I’m in charge 
of it will do so at his peril.” 

“ Good for ye ! ” exclaimed Barney O’Connor, approv- 
ingly. “ Thot’s the way Oi loike to hear ye talk.” 

There was a murmur of assent from the others. 

“ I want to thank you, Sol, for lugging my dunnage,” 
said Norman to the Indian as they were turning in for 
the night. ** I was pretty well fagged when I got here, 
and if you hadn’t helped me out I don’t think I should 
have had supper with you.” 

“ Ugh ! ” grunted the Indian, with evident embar- 
rassment, ‘‘ dat all right — no t’ing ’t all,” and rolling 
himself in his blanket he was soon fast asleep. 

Norman lay awake for a time listening to the weird 
calls of a pair of loons down the lake, the shrill cry 
of some night-hawks in their evening quest of insects, 
and the complaining waters as they ran through 
the dam chute, and fell, with mournful cadence, into 


i68 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the pool below. Gradually the rugged landscape and 
its voices faded from his hazy consciousness, and he 
slept as soundly as the others. 





Waiting for the opening of the sluiceway at the ham. — Page 168 



CHAPTER XIV 


THE ARRIVAL AT CHAMBERLAIN DAM 

“ This is my first canoe trip/’ remarked Norman the 
next morning, as they were preparing to embark upon 
the waters of Grand Lake in the two big canoes that 
Jake Wiley had provided them with. 

That’s why I put you in between Sol and me,” 
said Eustace. We are old hands and will keep you 
out of mischief.” 

“ Keepum still. You ben all right,” admonished Sol. 

‘‘How ’bout a race?” asked Tom Boggs, who sat 
in the stern of the other canoe with Barney O’Connor 
and Fred Warner for companions. 

“ It’s slow and steady for me,” returned Eustace, 
good-naturedly, “ though I haven’t much doubt but 
what Sol could make you pound water a bit.” 

“ Begorra, he could thot,” declared Barney, as he 
stowed himself away in the bow of the canoe with 
Boggs. “ OiVe handled a paddle wid thot bye once 
or twice mesilf.’^ 

“ Push off,” shouted Eustace. 

With an almost imperceptible shove of his paddle 
the Indian sent the canoe out into the deep waters of 
the lake. To Norman seated upon his blanket folded 
169 


170 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


on the bottom of the frail craft, midway between Eus- 
tace in the bow and Sol Soc in the stern, there was a 
distinct tingle of exhilaration in the sensation of being 
afloat. He glanced at his watch. 

“ What time ? ” asked Sol. 

Five o^clock,” answered Norman. 

“ A very good start,” commented Eustace, with sat- 
isfaction. “ We’ll do some business to-day if we have 
any kind of luck.” 

With long, sweeping strokes of the paddles Sol and 
Eustace drove the canoe up the lake with an ease and 
speed that was a constant surprise to Norman. The 
idea of a race having been abandoned, Boggs and 
O’Connor were content to hold their course within 
comfortable speaking distance behind Sol and Eustace. 
The four-mile run up the beautiful stretch of water 
was a memorable one for Norman, and he was lost in 
admiration of the superb scenery that lay about him 
in the bright sunshine of the glorious June morning. 
Great rocky headlands made out into the lake at several 
points, and its long north shore was indented with a 
series of picturesque coves. 

“What mountain is that?” he asked, as he gazed 
in admiration upon the vast height whose rugged sides 
and seamy crest dominated the landscape. 

“ That’s old Katahdin, the highest mountain in 
Maine,” responded Eustace. “ It’s five thousand two 
hundred feet above the level of the sea, and ’most all 
granite.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 171 


“ Katahdin must be an Indian name/^ said Norman. 

What does it mean, Sol ? ” 

“ Him mean highest land,” responded the Indian. 

There’s the mouth of Trout Brook,” said Eustace, 
pointing to a stream that made its way into the lake 
through a gorge in the hills. 

“ Looks as if Nature cut that notch in the landscape 
on purpose for it,” commented Norman. 

It did, and ’twas something of a slice too,” assented 
Eustace. “ That little island at the mouth of Trout 
Brook is a favorite camping place with river drivers. 
They call it Louse Island,” he added. 

“ It’s picturesque enough to deserve a better name,” 
said Norman. 

“ I agree with you,” said Eustace. “ The men on 
the drive are not disposed to be very fastidious in the 
titles they bestow.” 

Leaving Grand Lake they followed a stream which 
wound its way between marshy, grass-grown banks for 
a distance of about four miles, and entered upon a 
beautiful sheet of water which Eustace stated to be 
Second Lake. 

‘‘ Every lake here seems to have its own peculiar 
charms,” said Norman, with enthusiasm. 

“ They are all beautiful,” agreed Eustace. 

Second Lake certainly had much to commend it to 
a lover of Nature. Several picturesque islands dotted 
its surface, and heavily wooded headlands lent grandeur 
to the shores. 


172 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


For four miles they paddled their way over its waters, 
and then came out again into the East Branch. For 
the next quarter of an hour their way lay along a 
narrow channel which ran between grassy banks, and 
over occasional sand-bars. 

For about a mile and a half they held their way 
along this course, and then ran their canoe to the shore, 
where they found an old man, with a rude buckboard 
drawn by two heavy horses, awaiting them. 

‘‘ This is the lower end of Indian Carry,’’ explained 
Eustace. ‘‘We shall go about three-quarters of a mile 
over this road and come to Webster Stream which also 
runs into Second Lake, but is too rough for a canoe. 
It is by all odds the wildest ten miles of water between 
Chamberlain Lake and the Sebois River. Well, Uncle 
Amie, did you think we weren’t coming?” he added, 
to the owner of the team, who had hurried forward to 
meet them. 

“No — not me!” was the smiling response. “I 
know w’en you start for go som’w’ere, ba Joe, you 
got dere ! ” 

“ Think you can haul us ? ” 

“ Sure t’ing. Ba cripe, I eat me dem horse dey 
can’t haul dis leetle load.” 

For a time the men were busy helping Lajoie stow 
their canoes and baggage upon the buckboard, securing 
it in place with many feet of binding rope. 

“ We’ve got ten and three-quarters miles to go on 
this carry,” announced Eustace, “ and I’m not counting 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 173 


on making it quite so quick as we have the thirteen 
and a half miles we’ve come since we started out this 
morning.” 

How long have we been?” asked Norman. 

Two hours and a half.” 

I knew we were moving along at a good clip,” said 
Norman, but I had no idea we were making as good 
time as that.” 

“ Got quite a good bit of kick left yet, haven’t we, 
Sol ? ” continued Eustace, turning to the Indian. 

‘‘ Me bet,” was the laconic response. 

Got the kinks out of your legs, Norman? ” inquired 
Eustace, with a smile. 

Good as new,” laughed Norman. “ I rather think 
the exercise you gave them yesterday has made them 
jaunt proof.” 

Well, we might as well ride with Uncle Amie the 
three-quarters of a mile across the Indian Carry; but 
when we reach Webster Stream if you want to walk — 
and I rather think you will after you’ve tried that tote- 
road a spell — riLshow you some of the swiftest water 
and wildest shores you’ve ever seen.” 

For the next twenty-five minutes they rode along 
the primitive road of the carry behind the leisurely 
moving horses of Uncle Amie Lajoie. At the end of 
that time they came to the shore of Webster Stream 
at a point just above Grand Falls, which was shallow 
enough for the horses to ford. 

They stopped for a few moments while Uncle Amie 


174 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


was making his slow way to the tote-road on the oppo- 
site shore to look at the beautifully picturesque falls, 
where the waters of the stream made a fifty-foot plunge 
down the face of a rocky wall, and went roaring on to 
meet and mingle with the waters of the East Branch. 

While the team was bumping its tedious way over 
the rough tote- road, Eustace and Norman improved 
the opportunity to see something of the rugged scenery 
which marked the wild river gorge down which the 
frothing waters of Webster Stream rushed with tumul- 
tuous roar. It was a vision of scenic grandeur which 
Norman never forgot. There were stretches of low 
falls and whirling eddies in the river bed studded with 
great and thick-set rocks; there were rocky cuts and 
chasms, and mighty ledge cliffs baffling the fuming 
current, and towering in places several hundred feet 
above its surface. 

It was a little past noon when they finally reached 
the shores of Webster Lake. 

Here while the canoes and the dunnage were being 
unpacked Sol Soc managed to secure half a dozen fine 
trout and a string of white perch, which, when fried 
and washed down with steaming tea, made a most 
welcome addition to their dinner. 

After they had satisfied the cravings of their keen 
woods appetites the members of the party bade good- 
bye to Uncle Amie, and embarked for their trip up 
Webster Lake. Half an hour of vigorous paddling 
brought them to the lower end of the canal which con- 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 175 


nected Webster and Telos Lakes. It scarcely seemed 
possible to Norman that this rocky channel, down which 
the waters that were once a part of what was the 
Allegash system leaped and churned on their eager 
way to the East Branch, could have been an artificial 
one. It was evident that Nature had improved not a 
little upon the labors of men, in the working out of 
the channel. 

Here’s where we carry for a mile,” announced 
Eustace, as they drew the canoes ashore. “ I might 
have had Uncle Amie haul us clear through to Telos 
Lake, but I thought we’d get there quicker to canoe 
the three miles up Webster and carry ourselves to 
Telos. ril let Sol and Boggs handle our dunnage, 
and the rest of us will carry the fleet.” 

The canoes were turned bottom up and carried on 
the shoulders of the bearers, one at either end, Eustace 
and Norman carrying one, and Barney and Fred the 
other. Now, slow and steady,” cautioned Eustace. 
‘‘We are not going to try to keep up with Sol and 
Boggs. They’re sprinters, and will beat us out any- 
way with the dunnage. Take time, and be sure of 
your footing.” ^ 

It was half-past two when, after stopping a few 
times to rest, they finally reached the shores of Telos 
Lake, where they found that Sol and Boggs, who had 
been doubling back and forth along the tote-road, had 
their luggage waiting for them. 

Here also they found Jerry Cox with the small tow- 


176 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


boat that had superseded head-works in driving on 
Chamberlain waters. 

“ Well, is the dam still there? ” was the greeting of 
Eustace, as he shook him cordially by the hand. 

“ The most of it,'' was the response. 

“ How many men are there at the dam ? " 

‘‘ Eight." 

“ Well, there'll be fifteen of us when we get there. 
Haven't heard anything from the Allegash fellers, have 
you? " 

“ The boys caught a glimpse of some one skulking 
in the woods this morning, but he cleared out mighty 
lively. It wouldn't be healthy for any of that gang 
to go monkeying with the dam again," declared Cox, 
with emphasis. 

What are the men doing to-day ? " 

‘‘ Getting out timber. They thought they wouldn't 
begin repairs till you got there. There's a pretty good- 
sized break in the dam, but she’s holding all right.” 

‘‘ I reckon we’ll make her as good as new in a few 
days," declared Eustace, confidently. 

“ Got those canoes hitched astern, Sol ? " 

‘‘ Ya-as." 

“ Well, toot her up, Jerry.” 

Cox started his engine, and, with Eustace at the 
wheel, the stanch little steamer swung from the shore 
and headed up the lake. 

“We are in a great sporting country here," said 
Eustace to Norman, who stood beside him. “ This 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 177 


whole territory abounds with fish and game. A very 
good tote-road leads to Sourdnahunk Lake, six miles 
south of here, a regular sportsman’s paradise. It’s one 
of the best moose sections in Maine.” 

How far is it to the dam? ” asked Norman. 

About eighteen miles. It’s three o’clock now, and 
I reckon we ought to get there about supper time. This 
boat was built for pull and not for speed.” 

“ How did they get their logs across Chamberlain 
Lake before they had her?” asked Norman. 

With head-works,” responded Eustace. 

It must have been a killing job,” commented Nor- 
man. 

Well, the boys did used to come off from it looking 
as if they’d been through the war,” admitted Eustace, 
‘‘ but drivers were always tough in this section.” 

For five miles they held their course up Telos Lake, 
and then entered the thoroughfare about three miles 
long which connects it with Chamberlain Lake. It 
was a wide, sluggish stream which widened near its 
center, into a small lake about a mile in length called 
Telosmis. Beyond the thoroughfare they entered the 
long, broad waters of Chamberlain Lake. 

It was about six o’clock when they came to a stop 
near Chamberlain dam. The men at work there were 
gathered on the shore to meet them, and greeted the 
arrival of their leader and the other accessions to 
their forces with an exultant cheer. They were rough, 
hardy-looking fellows, and Norman felt that, in recruit- 


178 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


ing this force, Steve Merrill had made sure that they 
were the kind of men who could be depended upon to 
maintain the interests of the East Branch Log Driving 
Company at all hazards. They were relieved to find 
that the East Branch boss, mindful of their comfort, 
had sent along a man with some experience in woods 
cooking who was in full charge of the camp culinary 
department. The camp, a big lean-to, redolent with 
the aromatic odors of newly cut boughs, was in full 
use, and looked specially restful and inviting to Nor- 
man after the fatigues of the journey. 

There’s nothing to kill a big appetite that will quite 
compare with wild-goose beans,” declared Eustace, as 
they sat at supper over plates of baked beans smoking 
hot from the ground. “ When I first went in the 
woods,” he continued, the big yellow-eye bean was 
in pretty general use.” 

‘‘Why do they call these wild-goose beans?” asked 
Norman. 

“ Because the original seed was secured from the 
crops of wild geese. Of that there seems to be no 
doubt, although, in the old days, it was a matter of 
much contention as to who had the honor of being the 
first discoverer of them. There were two claimants. 
Col. John Goddard of Bangor and Henry K. Robinson 
of Brewer, both lumbermen. Both claimed to have 
found the original seed of the small white or pea bean 
in the crop of a wild goose, and to have developed them 
in their own gardens. Partisanship used to run high 

r 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 179 


in the old days, and I do not know as the matter was 
ever settled. There is a third claimant who has been 
named in recent years, Isaac Park who lived in Veazie, 
Maine, about ninety years ago. His descendants say 
that he secured the original seed of the white bean 
from the crop of a wild goose, and developed the 
variety. One of his descendants, a granddaughter who 
lives in Boston, is said to have in her possession a 
velvet-lined jewel case in which reposes a bean that 
was one of the first descendants of those secured from 
the crop of the wild goose by Mr. Park. It has cer- 
tainly been a great addition to the bean family, being 
one that is a hardy grower, and has, moreover, the 
virtue of maturing early.’’ 

These beans seem to have a wild-goose flavor,” 
laughed Norman. “ I think I’ll have another plate of 
them.” 

That wild-goose flavor you think you taste comes 
from the good corn-fed pork that’s in them,” declared 
Eustace. “ I’ve concluded,” he added, not to ask 
you or Fred to stand guard at the dam to-night.” 

“ Don’t let me out of anything I ought to do,” pro- 
tested Norman. 

“ Oh, I lay out to give you chance enough before 
we’re through,” responded Eustace, “ but I thought it 
wouldn’t be quite safe to start you in until you were 
in a little better condition to keep awake.” 

‘'How many men will you keep on guard duty?” 

“ Two. One at each end of the dam. I reckon our 


i8o WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Allegash friends will fancy they’ve struck a hornet’s 
nest if they try to complete their work.” 

Soon after the guards, armed with Winchester rifles, 
had been posted, the men turned in for the night, and 
the cares of Chamberlain dam were speedily forgotten 
in dreamless slumber. 


CHAPTER XV 


IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY 

“ Well, take care of yourselves, boys/^ 

Eustace smiled a little as he gave Norman and Fred 
this parting admonition, for he knew that there was 
not a better woodsman for his years in Maine than 
Fred Warner. Norman, too, had not failed to profit 
in the lore of the wilderness by his winter at Quadrate 
Lake. 

‘‘ We’ll try to,” returned Warner. “ What do you 
think we’d better do to-day ? ” 

‘‘ Fd work out some of the old wood-roads,” replied 
Eustace. ‘‘ You needn’t go too far away. If you find 
any camp, or any place where camp fires have recently 
burned, return and let me know at once.” 

Norman and Warner, in accordance with the general 
plan outlined by Eustace, were about to start upon a 
cruise through the woods near Chamberlain dam, to 
ascertain if possible whether or not any of the enemy 
were still lurking in that vicinity. Norman carried his 
double-barreled shot-gun, and Fred Warner, besides his 
Colt’s revolver, was equipped with a Winchester rifle. 
In addition to these weapons, the boys carried a small 
belt-axe, a lunch which the cook had put up for them, 

i8i 


i 82 with pickpole and peavey 


a junk of salt pork, a frying-pan and two pint dippers 
of tin. They were also provided with two fish lines 
and a few spare hooks. 

The warning given by Eustace as they started out 
was not in a serious vein, for he shared with the boys 
the belief that their mission, while affording some safe- 
guard against possible surprises, would be essentially 
a safe and enjoyable outing. Already the men of the 
crew were inclined to believe that the Allegash forces 
had been discouraged at the poor prospect of completing 
the work they had started out to do, and had retired 
in disgust from the Chamberlain Lake region. 

The boys were in high spirits as they made their 
way down an old logging-road after leaving the camp. 
The day was clear and balmy. A supply of Sol Soc’s 
evil-smelling insect dope secured them immunity from 
the attacks of the black flies that swarmed the forest, 
and, but for this protection, would speedily have taken 
away the pleasure of their trip. There was a relief 
from accustomed tasks, a freedom from care and 
responsibility, that was exhilarating to the boys. They 
drank in the elixir of the wild-woods atmosphere with 
buoyant spirits. It was a joy and inspiration to be 
in such close and sympathetic touch with Nature, the 
cheer that comes to clear minds and healthy bodies 
from the life in the open — far away from the haunts 
of man. 

The resinous odors of the deep woods had all the 
virtues of a tonic. The very atmosphere pulsated with 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 183 


health and vigor. The spell of the forest was on Fred 
and Norman. They felt its charm, and yielded to its 
magic. 

Neither spoke for a time. Each was busy with his 
own reflections, and both were under the impression 
that they would stand a better chance of success in 
their quest if they conducted a “ still hunt.’' 

Presently, as they were making their way along a 
ridge where the heavy evergreens had crowded out the 
undergrowth and nature had carpeted the ground with 
moss, they heard down the descent to their left, the 
sound of falling waters. Following it up they came 
to a brook of clear, cold water leaping down a rocky 
channel that lay between the hills. 

Looks like a good trout brook,” declared Norman. 

“ We’ll very soon know whether it is or not,” 
responded Warner, as he drew a fish-hook and line 
from his pocket. 

“ We have plenty of poles at hand, Fred,” declared 
Norman, a little ruefully, “ but no bait.” 

“ We’ll remedy that in short order,” returned War- 
ner, confidently. 

He went to a decaying stump a short distance up 
the slope and began knocking the punky wood to 
pieces with his axe. In a short time he returned with 
a handful of large, white grubs. 

Try these,” he said. “ I’ve heard that trout prefer 
them to angleworms.” 

Norman baited his hook with one of the grubs, and 


i 84 with pickpole and peavey 


proceeded to cut a small, slender birch tree, that grew 
a short distance up the slope, and which was admirably 
adapted for a fishing-pole. Carefully trimming it he 
tied his line to it, and dropped his baited hook into 
a good-sized pool. Almost immediately there was a 
sharp tug at the line, and Norman could not refrain 
from a shout of exultation as he snapped a half-pound 
trout upon the bank. 

Dropping his pole, he made haste to secure it before 
it could wiggle back into the water. 

A few moments later, with no little pride, he exhib- 
ited his glistening prize, nicely strung upon a crotched 
birch withe, to Warner, who had returned from a short 
trip in exploration of the little valley. 

He’s a beauty,” said Fred, admiringly. 

“ I didn’t have him any too well hooked,” explained 
Norman. ‘‘ He went clear when he struck the bank, 
but I got him.” 

All is well that ends well,” laughed Warner. 

‘‘ It was certainly so in this case,” agreed Norman. 

I’m inclined to think from what I heard going up 
the ridge that there’s a fair-sized waterfall a little ways 
above here,” continued Warner. 

‘‘ Let’s fish up to it,” suggested Norman. 

That’s a good idea,” assented Warner. 

The boys made their way slowly up the ravine, test- 
ing each promising hole and cascade with their fish- 
lines. As a result they soon had their birch ‘‘ stringer ” 
half filled with beautiful brook trout. As they came 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 185 


over the brow of a boulder-studded knoll an exclama- 
tion of delight came from Norman. 

“ The fairies’ glen ! ” he said. 

You’ve named it,” assented Warner. 

The little basin of the hills — one of those spots of 
rare symmetry of setting that appeal with subtle charm 
to the sensibilities of all lovers of Nature — was indeed 
worthy of Norman’s description. A gentle, moss- 
covered slope beneath towering spruce trees constituted 
its sides, while at its upper end the clear, cold waters 
of the brook, sparkling in the sunbeams that struggled 
through the shadowy canopy of the tree-tops, fell with 
a musical splash into the clear depths of a pool below. 
To the right of the falls, a short distance up the slope, 
the waters of a clear, cold spring boiled from a sandy 
basin and trickled down the hillside to lose themselves 
in the larger current of the brook. 

“ I should like to camp right here for a month in 
this cool, shady little dell,” declared Norman, with 
enthusiasm. 

It is certainly an almost ideal camping spot,” 
acquiesced Warner. “ Shouldn’t wonder, too, if there 
were some old whopper trout in that pool.” 

“ We’ll test it out,” said Norman, as he cast his line 
in the foamy waters. A moment later he had a three- 
quarters-pound trout squirming at the end of his line. 

‘‘ Isn’t he a whale ? ” he gasped, with enthusiasm. 

‘‘ No,” laughed Fred. “ He’s only a brook trout, 
but an unusually good one.” 


i86 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Norman added the beautiful trout to his already 
good string, and then began slowly unwinding his fish- 
line from the end of his pole. 

‘‘ I don’t imagine that Billy Eustace sent us out here 
to go fishing,” he said, with a sigh. 

“ I guess he won’t mind what little we’ve done,” 
said Fred. “ Anyway we can plan to come back here 
and eat our dinner. I’ll pack those trout in moss to 
keep the flies away from them, and we won’t need to 
bother with much of our lunch.” 

“ I could eat trout twenty-one times a week, and 
never grow tired of them,” asserted Norman, con- 
fidently. 

“ You might change your mind a little after you’d 
tried it a month or two,” laughed Warner. 

A few minutes later they were once more tramping 
the wood-road. 

I think we had better work out to the right of this 
road to Eagle Lake,” said Warner. Then we’ll circle 
back here, and have our trout dinner in the fairies’ 
glen. This afternoon we can swing off to the left, 
and work down to the shore of Chamberlain Lake. 
I feel very sure that if any of the Allegash men are 
hanging around here to complete the work they under- 
took to do when they dynamited the dam, they are 
somewhere in this stretch of country between Cham- 
berlain and Eagle lakes.” 

“ What makes you think so? ” asked Norman, doubt- 
fully. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 187 

They’d want to be within comfortable striking 
distance, I should suppose.” 

“ How far does Chamberlain Lake extend above the 
dam at the outlet ? ” 

“ About three miles, I should judge from the map. 
I’ve never been there.” 

‘‘ That wouldn’t be much of a tramp for trained 
woodsmen, would it ? ” 

‘‘ No,” admitted Warner, “ still I don’t think there’s 
one of them so fond of exercise that he would care to 
walk any miles that he didn’t think were necessary.” 

‘‘ Perhaps you’re right,” conceded Norman. 

During the rest of the morning the boys tramped 
faithfully over the woods between Eagle and Cham- 
berlain Lakes. They were not successful in finding 
any traces of the Allegash men; but Norman was 
fortunate enough on their way back to shoot a large 
Canadian lynx, so that they felt that their tramp was 
not wholly in vain. 

“ Another rug, I suppose,” remarked Fred, as Nor- 
man triumphantly shouldered this trophy of his skill. 

‘‘ Yes,” laughed Norman, “ if I can get Sol or 
Barney to prepare this skin for me.” 

Soon after, at Fred’s suggestion, he removed the 
skin of the big cat, and hid it in a stump by the road- 
side, intending to secure it, later in the day, on their 
way back to the camp. 

Noon found them back in. the fairies’ glen. Here, 
leaning their guns against a big spruce that grew part 


i88 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 

way up the mossy slope, the boys devoted themselves 
to the task of preparing their dinner. A brisk fire 
was kindled between two parallel piles of rock, the 
trout were dressed and washed in the clear waters of 
the brook, and while Norman went to the spring to 
fill their tin dippers with its water, Warner busied 
himself with cooking the savory fish in the frying-pan 
with long, thin slices of the salt pork. 

Using pointed sticks for forks, the boys speared the 
sizzling fish from the frying-pan, and supplementing 
them with some biscuits from their lunches, gave them- 
selves up to the enjoyment of their meal with the keen 
relish that comes from woods appetites. 

“ You’re as good a cook as Felix,” laughed Norman. 
“ These trout are delicious ; done to the queen’s taste.” 

Sure ! ” broke in a deep voice. “ There’s nothing 
like ’em; but don’t ye think it’s a trifle hoggish not to’ 
pass ’em ’round ? ” 

Norman and Fred ceased eating and with amazed 
and startled faces turned their heads in the direction 
of the voice. For a moment they stood staring at 
the sight that met their gaze, scarcely able to credit 
the evidence of their senses; but there was no mis- 
taking the harrowing vision that confronted them. 
The speaker was big Gusty Peters, and seated beside 
him on the mossy hillside, his dark, coarse features 
relaxed in a triumphant grin, was Black Jake Jasper. 

Instinctively both boys looked for their guns; but 
they were gone. Then they saw what they had not at 



“ Don’t ye think it’s a trifle hoggish not to pass ’em 

’round ? ” — Page 188. 







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WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 189 


first noticed, that they were in the possession of their 
unwelcome visitors. Norman’s shot-gun lay beside 
Jasper, and Peters was holding Warner’s Winchester 
across his lap. 

“Scooped! by Jimmy, scooped!” laughed the big 
Allegash leader, with very evident enjoyment of the 
situation. “We was af eared they might go off ’n’ 
hurt ye while ye was a-eatin’ o’ them trout,” he 
explained, with a satisfied chuckle. “ It’s mighty care- 
less o’ Eustace to allow kids like you to go traipsin’ 
through the woods with rale guns,” he continued, with 
an affable grin. “ What ye say to thet ’ere proposition, 
Jake?” 

“ It’s simply scandalous,” agreed Jasper. 

“ Have ye got a license to hunt ? ” continued Peters, 
pointing a big, pudgy forefinger at Norman. 

“ No,” admitted Norman. 

“ Are ye a resident of Maine ? ” 

“ No. My home is in Boston.” 

“ Are ye a registered guide ? ” demanded the big 
Allegash boss, pointing an accusing finger at Warner. 

“ Certainly not,” returned Fred, with spirit. 

“ Criminals ! Lawbreakers ! both on ye ! ” roared 
Peters. “ This Boston feller comes down here with- 
out any license to hunt, an’ you undertake for t’ guide 
him without any license t’ guide. What ye say to 
thet, Jake?” 

“ Both on ’em liable,” responded Jasper, with 
emphasis. 


190 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“Here you! drop thet!’’ shouted Peters, as Fred’s 
hand reached for the revolver in his belt. “ Don’t try 
any capers on us, youngster. If ye do I warn ye it 
will be wuss for ye. It’s bad enough for ye to be 
a-rampaging through the woods a-breakin’ o’ the game 
laws, without undertakin’ to resist an officer.” 

“An officer!” gasped Norman, incredulously. 

“ Sartin,” responded Peters, coolly. “ I’m the game 
warden for this ’ere section, and here I’ve ketched ye 
both red-handed. I arrest ye both. I reckon I’ll have 
to take ye afore a trial justice an’ have ye bound over 
for trial et the next term o’ the supreme joodicial 
court.” 

“ It’s no use to bluff,” declared Warner. “ You’re 
no more a game warden than I am, and if you were 
we haven’t broken any law.” 

“ What should be done with a knowin’ kid whose 
head gits too big for his hat, Jake?” asked Peters, 
turning to his companion. 

“Cut off his ears!” returned Jasper, solemnly. 

“Ye hear thet, do ye?” said Peters, addressing 
Warner. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, bub, ye’d better govern yourself accordin’ 
if ye know when ye’re well off. Don’t ye think so, 
sonny?” he asked, turning to Norman. “It doesn’t 
pay for youngsters to get too flip, ye know,” he added. 

“ I recognize this bluff of yours for just what it is 
worth,” returned Norman, wrathfully, “ but, as we 


WITH PICKPOLE AND^PEAVEY 191 


seem to be in your power, I suppose we’ll have to 
submit to it.” 

Peters took a large envelope from his inside coat 
pocket and tossed it to Norman. 

“ Read what’s in thet, an’ see what ye think,” he 
said. 

Norman pulled a long official document from the 
envelope, and read it with amazement. There was 
no mistake about it. It was a game warden’s com- 
mission duly made out to R. B. Peters. He passed 
it to Warner, who read it, with very evident astonish- 
ment, and tossed it back to Peters. 

‘‘ It seems to be straight enough,” he said ; “ but it’s 
nothing to us. We haven’t broken any laws.” 

Thet’s where you’re mistaken,” insisted Peters. 

We’ve caught ye in th’ act. I rally haven’t any 
choice in th’ matter, boys. I must arrest ye an’ take 
ye before the nighest trial justice. I can’t do anything 
else. I’ve gin my oath t’ enforce th’ laws, an’ I can’t 
go back on it. I’d be powerful glad to scold ye a 
little, an’ let ye off, boys; but ye see I can’t do it. I 
think ye was both green an’ didn’t know what ye was 
a-doin’, but thet wouldn’t excuse me for lettin’ of ye 
off, would it, Jake?” 

‘‘ Not on yer life. It would be malfeasance in 
office, an’ would sartinly lay ye liable,” asserted Jasper, 
solemnly. 

‘‘ I hope the co’rt will show ye mercy, I do, by gum ! ” 
continued Peters, with apparent sincerity. “ I’ll say 


192 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


a good word for ye; but Jake is right erbout it. I 
can’t go back on my oath o’ office, can I, Jake?” 

“ In course not,” responded Jake. 

Now, boys. I’ve got irons in my pocket,” con- 
tinued Peters, “ but if you’ll gin me yer word ye won’t 
try t’ run away, but’ll walk along peaceable between 
me an’ Jake, I won’t use ’em.” 

We’ll do that,” agreed Norman, “ but of course 
you’ll send word about our arrest to the camp ? ” 

“ Sartin. I’ll let Jake go back to-night as soon as 
we reach the place where we’re goin’ t’ camp an’ tell 
Billy jest what hes happened. You’ll sure want some 
one to defend ye? You’d jest as soon go, wouldn’t 
ye, Jake?” 

‘‘ Sure,’’ answered Jake, with a grin. Be glad to.” 

‘‘Now I guess we’d better help ye eat them trout,” 
continued Peters, “ but fust, perhaps ye’d better toss 
me thet belt ye wear,” he added, with a nod at Warner. 

Very reluctantly Fred removed his belt and tossed 
it to Peters, who threw it over his shoulder after an 
unsuccessful attempt to buckle it around his ample 
waist. “ I’ve no doubt,” he said, “ th’ co’rt will return 
this property of your’n in due time, won’t it, Jake?” 

“ Gen’ally does,” responded Jasper. 

“Ye see I want t’ be fair with ye, boys,” said Peters, 
in his most conciliatory tone. “ I’m willin’ to do all 
for ye thet th’ law will justify me in doin’. I recog- 
nize as how th’ co’rt may not regard ye as severely as 
if ye’d actually killed a deer or a moose, while a-rangin’ 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 193 


through the woods o’ this ’ere section in this illegal 
manner.” 

Perhaps they hev’,” suggested Black Jake. They 
may hev’ it hid away in some place.” 

“ Sure,” said Peters. Thet may all be ; but until 
we find it we shall hev’ no evidence of it. I reckon 
we’ll hold ’em only on the charge we can back up. 
And now,” he continued, let’s turn to an’ help th’ 
boys punish them trout.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE CAMP OF GUSTY PETERS 

We'd better be movin' on," announced Peters, when 
the last trout had been disposed of. “ There doesn't 
seem to be anything but th' fryin'-pan for us' t' clean," 
he added. 

He took the grease-lined utensil in his hand, and, 
stepping to the side of the brook, pulled a large sod 
from a short stretch of overhanging bank. With this 
he vigorously scoured the inside of the pan, swirling 
his sod round and round with muscular vigor. When 
he had finished he tossed the remnants of the sod away, 
and rinsed the frying-pan in the brook. 

“Clean, ain't she?" he asked, holding it up to 
Warner for inspection. 

“ Yes," was the astonished reply. “ It shines." 

“ Nothin' like a good sod t' clean a greasy fryin'- 
pan with," declared Peters. “ Now pack up, an' let's 
be goin'." 

“ See here," said Norman, desperately, as they 
tramped along after their burly captor, with Black 
Jake Jasper bringing up the rear, “ I don't want you 
to imagine that we're as green as you take us to be. 
I know very well that we have broken no law, and 
194 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 195 


you know it also. You have another motive for this 
bogus arrest, and you mustn’t think for a moment that 
we do not know what it is.” 

‘‘Tut! tut! sonny,” remonstrated Peters. “Ye 
mustn’t blame me. It ain’t very pleasant t’ have t’ 
arrest two sech handsome youngsters es you an’ your 
chum here; but I’ve taken an oath t’ enforce the law 
an’ I must do my duty, mustn’t I, Jake?” 

“ You surely must,” responded Jasper, in tones of 
solemn conviction. 

“ An’ I’ve even offered t’ do what I could t’ help 
ye out with the jedge, ye ongrateful critter,” continued 
Peters, indignantly. “ What d’ye think o’ thet, Jake? ” 

“ Wouldn’t help ’em at all arter thet,” declared 
Jasper. “ I’d let ’em sweat.” 

“Ye mustn’t be too hard on ’em, Jake,” remonstrated 
Peters, in a magnanimous tone. “ Remember they’re 
only boys — probably ignorant o’ th’ law — though 
thet doesn’t excuse any one for breakin’ of it — an’ 
nachally feelin’ jest a little cheap t’ think they’re been 
ketched in sech a scrape. Don’t blame ye a bit, boys! 
I swanny I’d feel jest thet way myself, if I was in 
your place. Wouldn’t you, Jake?” 

“ I sartin should,” agreed Jasper. 

“ We’ll take our medicine without any molasses, if 
you please,” retorted Warner, resentfully. 

Peters turned about with an ominous scowl. 

“ Don’t ye go for t’ gittin’ sassy, bub,” he growled. 
“ If ye do. I’ll gin ye a good sound larrupin’. Don’t 


196 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


ye borry no trouble. Th’ law doesn’t oblige any officer 
t’ take back talk from a prisoner, does it, Jake? ” 

Never! ” asserted Jasper, with emphasis. Oil o’ 
birch is a legal remedy in them cases.” 

‘‘ An’ one es gin’ally does the business,” added 
Peters, grimly. 

“Where are you taking us?” demanded Norman. 

“ Along one o’ Tom Bowker’s ole loggin’-roads,” 
responded Peters. 

“ I’m glad to know it’s Bowker’s,” responded Nor- 
man, “ but that doesn’t fully answer my question.” 

“An officer isn’t expected to tell all his plans to a) 
prisoner,” said Peters, with wrinkled brows. “ Still, 
seein’ as you’re a boy an nachally curious. I’ll be decent 
with ye, an’ tell ye. I’m a-takin’ of ye back to the 
abode o’ men, away from th’ hants o’ th’ moose, ’n’ 
th’ deer, an’ the — ” 

“ Wild, woolly bear,” chuckled Jasper. 

Peters threw back his head, and gave vent to a loud 
and hearty guffaw, at this unexpected burst of humor. 

“ You beat th’ Dutch, Jake! ” he gasped, admiringly. 
“ Most original cuss ye ever saw,” he added, to the 
boys. 

“ So we’ve observed,” said Warner, dryly. 

“ Lemme see, what was I a-sayin’ when Jake trotted 
in thet woolly bear? Oh, yes! I was a-tellin’ of ye 
where I was a-layin’ out t’ take ye. We’re headed for 
th’ land o’ courts, an’ j edges an’ jails, an’ I don’t keer 
how soon we git thar.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 197 


“You don’t expect to make it to-night, do you?” 
asked Norman. 

“ No, we don’t shake th’ big woods es easy es thet,” 
returned Peters, with an indulgent chuckle. “ Shouldn’t 
be a mite surprised if it took us the best part of a week 
or ten days. It’s ’bout a hundred an’ twelve miles 
from Eagle Lake to Fort Kent, although a canoe slips 
along in fairly good water most o’ the way.” 

“ That’s what they call the Allegash trip, isn’t it ? ” 
asked Norman. 

“ Yes, all th’ waters ’round here, includin’ them o’ 
Chamberlain Lake, belong to th’ Allegash system,” 
declared Peters, sharply. 

“But they don’t flow that way?” said Warner. 

“ Makes no diff’rence whar they flow now,” retorted 
Peters, gruffly. “ Th’ fact I’ve stolen an’ used some- 
thing es belongs t’ somebody else doesn’t make it mine, 
does it? I’ll allow,” he hastened to add, as if to avoid 
all possible argument, “ thet it was pretty nigh es easy 
for the Chamberlain Lake waters t’ flow south es it 
was for ’em t’ flow north. Chamberlain is eleven hun- 
dred feet above sea level, an’ marks th’ highest pint 
in Maine’s Lake country.” 

“ It’s like a pond on a hill-top,” interposed Black 
Jake. “ Jest ’bout es easy for th’ water t’ run off one 
side es t’other.” 

“ Who is to decide whar the waters shall flow ? ” 
demanded Peters, with a theatrical show of solemnity. 
He paused for effect. “ It’s the Lord ! ” he announced. 


198 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


with ponderous gravity. “What d’ye say, Jake?” 

“ It sartin is,” agreed Jasper. 

“ Now,” continued Peters, “ th’ Lord ordained thet 
th’ waters o’ Chamberlain Lake should flow north into 
the Allegash. I’ll allow ’twasn’t no great trick t’ make 
’em flow south into the East Branch; but I hold thet 
no man hes a right t’ change th’ plans o’ th’ Almighty.” 

“ Perhaps the Lord made the Canadians put an 
unjust tax on the American logs driven down the St. 
John River; and then again perhaps He took away the 
Chamberlain Lake waters to punish them for doing 
it,” responded Warner, with spirit. 

It was evident that this view of the matter was 
somewhat disconcerting to Peters. 

“ Shet up, kid ! ” he ordered, angrily. “ What ye 
don’t know ’bout this matter would fill a couple o’ 
dictionaries. Jest bear in mind thet me an’ Jake hev 
lived in this world a considerable longer spell than you 
have, an’ know a heap more things about this country.” 

“ I wouldn’t discuss that subject with him, Fred,” 
interposed Norman. “No good can come of it, can 
there, Jake?” he added, turning quickly to Jasper. 

“ Sartin not,” returned Jasper. “ Heh ! — er, wal — 
or what ? ” he stammered in confusion, as it suddenly 
dawned upon him that he was not echoing Gusty 
Peters. “ Jest like shakin’ a red flag et a bull,” he 
added, lamely. 

The giant of the Allegash burst into one of his roar- 
ing bellows of laughter. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 199 


“Wal — wal/’ he gasped. Thet’s sartin rich. 
Ketched ye thet time, Jake, sure es preachin’,’’ he 
added, with a chuckle. ‘‘ Set fire ! but you’re a cute 
one,” he added, to Norman, turning his head for a 
mirthful glance in his direction. 

“ I noticed that his negative was hung on a hair 
trigger,” explained Norman. 

“ It was only an echo ! ” added Warner. 

Shet up ! or I’ll cuff ye out,” growled Jasper, 
resentfully, as another half-smothered snicker floated 
back from Peters. 

‘ Little boys without a beard 
Should be seen, but never bear’d,’ ” 

he quoted, sternly. 

“ So you are going to take us to Fort Kent, are 
you? ” said Norman to Peters in an attempt to change 
the conversation, which, he perceived, was getting on 
dangerous ground. 

‘‘ I allow es how we’d better,” responded Peters. 
“ Thet’s ’bout th’ nighest court, an’ then there’s the 
telegraph t’ notify yer friends with, an’ the railroad 
t* fetch ’em to ye. I want ye t’ know thet I intend t’ 
deal square with ye. I want ye t’ hev a fair show.” 

‘‘ You’re very kind, I’m sure,” responded Norman. 

I’ve got a heart in me big es an ox,” asserted 
Peters, in a burst of confidence. “ Hev’n’t I, Jake?” 

“ Big es two on ’em,” corroborated Jasper, promptly. 

** You said it was about one hundred and twelve 
miles, did you?” pursued Norman. 


200 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Jest erbout/’ replied Peters, “ but bless ye, I wasn’t 
a-plannin’ on makin’ ye walk it. We’ll slip down the 
Allegash an’ the St. John rivers in a canoe mighty 
easy and comfortable. Jest like slidin’ down hill in 
winter. Only a mile or two o’ carry the hull distance.” 

As Peters finished speaking, he turned abruptly to 
the right from the tote-road, and plunged into the 
woods. 

“ There’s a longer way ’round, but this is th’ nighest 
way home,” he announced. 

“ I should think it was also the roughest one,” said 
Norman, as he followed the bulky leader over dead- 
falls, and through tangles of undergrowth. 

“ Don’t be a baby ! ” growled Peters. “ A spry 
youngster like you shouldn’t mind a little trip like 
this, should he, Jake?” 

Sure, n — er — ought to make fun on it,” 
responded Jasper, remembering in time to save him- 
self, the sport that had been occasioned by his ready 

no.” 

Got the bung in on that just in time,” commented 
Warner, with a grin. 

“ None o’ yer sass,” snarled Jasper, resentfully. ‘‘ If 
you’d hed a few more trouncin’s et home ye’d know 
enough t’ be respectful to yer elders.” 

Seeing that the temper of the big teamster was 
rising, Warner wisely forbore to answer him. 

Peters, with long, ponderous tread, led the party 
from the black growth into the matted labyrinth of a 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 201 


dense cedar swamp, where moss-grown windfalls were 
heaped up with a wild and promiscuous prodigality of 
nature that made progress both slow and difficult. 

To add to their discomfort swarms of black flies 
came out of the dark coverts to prey upon them. 

“Want some kill-pest?’' asked Peters, facing about 
with a small bottle in his hand. “ Oh, ye got some o’ 
your own, hev ye?” he remarked, seeing Norman and 
Fred smearing their hands and faces with Sol Soc’s 
ointment. “ Wal, if it suits ye, all right ; but it’ll hev 
t’ be th’ rale thing if it beats this,” he added, returning 
the bottle to his pocket. 

He chuckled softly to himself. 

“ Never but one on ’em ever bit Jake,” he said, “ an’ 
he died.” 

“ Why was that ? ” asked Norman. 

“ Got his system full o’ nicotine,” responded Peters, 
solemnly. 

“ Wal, if thet’s the case they ought not t’ pester 
you,” retorted Jasper, “ seein’ es how I smoke a con- 
sider’ble better grade o’ tobacco.” 

“ Let you tell it,” responded Peters, good-naturedly. 
“ My, but that was tough on fat men,” he puffed, as 
he climbed over a specially big windfall, and paused to 
rest for a moment. “ Fm glad t’ say we’re through 
th’ wust on it. We’ll git more open goin’ as we work 
up on to the ridge,” he added. 

This assertion proved true. As they advanced the 
travelling became much better, and presently the black 


202 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


growth gave way to one of towering birch, beech and 
maple — primeval growths whose mighty tops shaded 
the ground to such an extent as to kill out most of 
the undergrowth, making the walking comparatively 
easy. They paused for a moment beyond the brow 
of the ridge to fill their tin dippers from a spring of 
clear, cold water. 

From this point their way lay down a sharp incline 
and across a boggy meadow thickly studded with 
tussocks of sphagnum moss, which shook under their 
feet as they stepped carefully from one to the other. 
Through the center of the meadow crept the slow 
current of a dark, sluggish stream, over which they 
made their way on a log which served as a bridge. 

‘‘ ^Most there,” announced Peters, as he led the way 
up the steep bank along a narrow trail which wound 
its tortuous way into the sombre shadows of a heavy 
black-growth. Here the trees were of a consider- 
able size, and stood closely together. It was a dark 
way under the most favorable circumstances, and was 
depressing in its suggestiveness of brooding mystery 
and unseen dangers. Even Gusty Peters hastened his 
steps, as if he were not disposed to linger longer than 
necessary on this part of the journey. 

Presently the way grew lighter, and they soon 
emerged into a good-sized clearing, which stood at 
the foot of a gently sloping ridge, the upper part of 
which was covered with hard wood growth. About 
midway of this clearing was a long, low camp of 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 203 


unpeeled logs, which had evidently been used as a 
woods camp by some lumber operator. 

At the foot of the ridge a brook bubbled noisily 
over a stony bed, near the bank of which, a short 
distance from the camp, was a big, boiling spring. 

“Ye thought th’ water we got back a piece was 
pretty good,” said Peters, as they paused for a drink, 
“ but it wasn’t in it with this. I tell ye this ’ere water 
is th’ genuine elixir o’ life, ain’t it, Jake?” 

“ It air, for sure,” responded Jasper, promptly. 

“ Well, let’s go in an’ see th’ camp,” continued Peters, 
as he led the way up an old tote-road which crossed 
the brook on a corduroy bridge, and found a terminus 
between the camp and the horse hovel facing it. 

Arriving at the camp, the big Allegash boss pulled 
open the door of rough cleated boards and passed 
within, followed by Norman and Fred, with Black 
Jake bringing up in the rear. 

Two swarthy-faced men were holding down the 
deacon seat, solemnly smoking black corn-cob pipes. 
They looked up with a nod of greeting, but made no 
comment, though they eyed the boys with very evident 
surprise and curiosity. 

“ Two youngsters I arrested for breakin’ th’ game 
laws,” explained Peters. “ Ketched ’em in th’ act.” 

“ Of eating their dinners,” added Norman. 

The face of Gusty Peters assumed an ominous scowl. 

“ Don’t try to be peart, youngster, if ye don’t want 
them ears o’ your’n pulled,” he began, sternly. 


204 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“They’re surely long enough already,” interposed 
Jasper. 

“ I meant just what I said,” roared Peters, in thun- 
derous tones. “ I ketched ye both a-breakin’ o’ th’ 
game laws. Now ye might as well quit disputin’ of 
me. I want t’ use ye fair; but I won’t be sassed by 
any one.” 

Norman did not reply, and presently Peters’s dis- 
pleasure passed away with a suddenness that suggested 
the origin of the name “ Gusty ” by which he was 
known among the woodsmen and river drivers. 

“ Make yourselves t’ hum, boys,” he said, hospitably. 
“ I can’t hev ye go outside alone ; but I don’t want t’ 
tie ye up in here.” 

Black Jake Jasper, having lighted his pipe, had taken 
his place on the deacon seat beside the door, and it 
was evident that escape in that direction was effectually 
cut off. 

“Ye can hev th’ whole run o’ camp,” said Peters, 
affably. 

Thus admonished, Norman and Fred improved the 
opportunity to inspect the rude structure. It had evi- 
dently consisted originally of a men’s camp and a cook’s 
camp connected by an intervening dingle. This, how- 
ever, had been walled in and provided with a floor of 
hewn logs to serve as a dining-room. 

“We fixed this since we’ve been here,” explained 
Peters. “ It got a trifle sultry t’ eat in the cook’s 
camp.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 205 


Beyond the dining-room was the kitchen, over which 
presided a slight young Frenchman with smiling face 
and nervous manner. He greeted the boys with a 
cordial Bon jour,” and went on with his work. 

“ A jumper,” whispered Peters. 

Norman raised his brows. 

‘‘ I don’t allow the boys t’ pester ’im,” added Peters, 
‘‘ an’ I reckon thet’s why he sticks with me. He’s a 
tolerable good grub artist.” 

All three buildings which were under one roof, were 
very low, and the only light that came to them was 
through the roof where half a dozen 6x9 window sashes 
were made to do duty as skylights. 

There was a row of double bunks — one above the 
other — on one side of the men’s camp ; but, as only 
a small section in the upper one was provided with 
fresh boughs, it seemed evident that Peters’s crew was 
not a large one. 

‘‘Did you build this camp?” asked Norman. 

“ No,” replied Peters. “ This is old Cain Fenton’s 
camp. He operated here a year ago last winter.” 

“ Are you operating here this summer? ” asked Nor- 
man, pointedly. 

The big boss laughed, indulgently. 

“ No, sonny,” he said, good-naturedly. “ This is 
the crew that is going to clean up our Eagle Lake rear 
drive. It doesn’t take much of a crew t’ handle it 
since the East Branch fellers with their big tramway 
began a-stealin’ of our logs, es well as our water.” 


206 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Didn’t know you had any rear drive here,” said 
Warner. “ Thought you boomed across with a tug- 
boat.” 

‘‘We do on th’ lake,” admitted Peters. “ I was 
a-meanin’ of our brook drives.” 

“Haven’t you got ’em out yet?” 

“ Mostly. A few odds an ends t’ clean up. Ought 
to finish up in four or five days. Then I can take ye 
down t’ Fort Kent. I don’t rally see es how I can 
get away afore. Jake,” he ordered, turning to Jasper. 
“ Git an early supper an’ go back t’ Chamberlain dam 
an’ tell Billy Eustace what’s happened t’ th’ boys.” 

“ I think I’d best go now,” responded Jasper, as he 
gave up his seat to one of the Frenchmen and passed 
into the cook’s camp, closely followed by Peters. 

A few minutes later both men returned. Black Jake 
put on his hat and passed out of doors. 

“ He’s a long-legged critter, an’ can make good 
time,” said Peters. “ Perhaps ye’ll sleep a little 
sounder to-night t’ know thet Billy an’ his men ain’t 
worryin’ erbout ye.” 



The tail end of the dkive — the cook’s batteau and supply boat. — Page 206 



CHAPTER XVII 


A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE 

‘‘ Bean on tab’. Tea all hot,” announced the cook 
two hours later, putting his head through the doorway 
that led from the men’s camp to the dining-camp. 

‘‘ That means all of us,” declared Peters, rising from 
his seat with alacrity. 

‘‘ Now, boys,” he continued, addressing Norman and 
Fred, when they were seated at the rough table with 
its oilcloth cover, pitch right in an’ help yourselves. 
Ye needn’t stan’ on ceremony. If ye want anything 
ye can’t reach, holler.” 

It was a coarse but substantial meal the cook had 
prepared for them, consisting of hot baked beans, prune 
sauce, cream of tartar biscuits of mammoth size, twisted 
molasses doughnuts, and steaming hot tea. Norman 
and Fred had developed sharp appetites by their long 
tramp and did not fail to do ample justice to the meal, 
to the evident satisfaction of Gusty Peters. 

‘‘ Glad t’ see ye eat so hearty,” he said, cordially. 
‘‘Ye must keep up good sperits, both on ye. I reckon 
you’ll come out o’ this scrape all right. I’ve no idee 
the jedge will be hard on ye — seein’ es how it’s yer 
fust offense. I cal’late he’ll gin ye a small fine.” 

207 


208 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


I hope you’re right,” declared Norman. 

** Hev’n’t much doubt ’bout it myself,” responded 
Peters, heartily. “ Do ye smoke ? ” 

“ No,” responded both boys in chorus. 

Glad t’ hear it,” said Peters, approvingly. ‘‘ It’s 
a mighty bad habit fer youngsters t’ git into.” 

When the men had finished their supper, and returned 
to the deacon seat in their quarters, they proceeded to 
fill their black pipes and flood the apartment with the 
acrid fumes of vile-smelling tobacco smoke. 

“ There’s one good thing erbout this kind of an 
atmosphere,” observed Peters, as he blew long whiffs 
from his pipe. “ The mosquitoes show no disposition 
t’ pester us.” 

Ba golly ! wan two — mebby more — com’ in firs’ 
night. Dey die prattee queeck,” added one of the 
Frenchmen. 

“ Thet’s jest what they did,” corroborated Peters. 

For a time the men smoked in silence, the topics of 
conversation apparently being exhausted. 

Presently the door swung open to admit the tall 
form of Black Jake Jasper. 

‘‘Well, Jake, what luck?” demanded Peters, as the 
elongated teamster tossed his hat upon the upper bunk 
and seated himself upon the deacon seat. 

“ I saw Billy Eustace,” responded Jasper. 

“An’ what did he say?” 

“ He said he didn’t believe any jedge in Maine would 
hold th’ boys on sech a charge,” responded Jake. “ He 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 209 


seemed quite riled up about it. He said it was impos- 
sible for him or any on his men t’ git away now, bein’ 
es he was short-handed anyway, an’ hed th’ dam now 
jest whar they couldn’t leave it. He said for us to 
git Major Dixson t’ defend th’ boys when we got t’ 
Fort Kent, an’ tell ’im he’d be responsible for th’ bills. 
He told me t’ tell th’ boys t’ take things cool an’ not 
worry. I guess thet’s ’bout th’ whole on it,” concluded 
Jasper with evident relief, as he paused, lit the pipe he 
had been filling during the recital, and lapsed into a 
moody silence. 

“ ’Bout what I supposed,” commented Peters. “ Billy 
hes got a good-sized job on his hands an’ must attend 
t’ it, if he gits thet dam fixed. I never believed it 
ought t’ ben put thar in the fust place; but it’s thar, 
an’ it’s bad business t’ be a-cuttin’ up capers with it 
et this late day. I think a heap o’ Billy Eustace,” he 
continued. “ Hed a little scrap with him an’ his men 
cornin’ up, but it never’d ’a’ happened if some on us 
hedn’t ’a’ ben drinkin’. Don’t ye ever tech liquor, boys,” 
he added, earnestly. “ It steals away a man’s brains 
an’ makes an ass o’ him. Here’s Jake here might ’a’ 
ben Gov’nor o’ Maine, if he’d let th’ stuff alone.” 

‘‘An’ how ’bout you?” snapped Jasper, who was 
apparently in no mood to enjoy Peters’s attempt at 
pleasantry. 

“Me?” responded Peters, complacently. “ Wal, I 
reckon a cabinet job would ’a’ ben jest erbout my 
size.” 


210 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


I alius did love a modest man/’ responded Jasper, 
with sarcasm. 

The two Frenchmen laughed uproariously; but 
Peters was in nowise disturbed. 

Scored thet time, Jake, sure es preachin’,” he 
conceded, good-naturedly. “Tired, boys?” he added, 
turning to Norman and Fred. 

“ I guess we can stand it a while longer,”' answered 
Norman. 

“ It’s no use t’ go t’ bed until ye can go t’ sleep,” 
said Peters. “ Ye’d much better sit up with the rest 
on us.” 

There was little conversation during the rest of the 
evening, the men smoking their pipes in stoical silence, 
and apparent preoccupation. At nine o’clock the lights 
were put out, and they all turned in for the night. 
Norman and Fred lay on the upper bunk, upon some 
clean blankets and freshly cut boughs, next to the log 
partition w^hich imperfectly divided the men’s camp 
from the eating-camp. The chinking between the logs 
had dropped away in several places, enabling them to 
get an excellent view of the cook as, by the light of 
several kerosene lamps suspended from the ribs of his 
camp, he closed up his evening’s work. 

It was the first time the boys had been given an 
opportunity to talk over the situation since their cap- 
ture by Gusty Peters and Black Jake Jasper. They 
hastened to improve it, talking in low whispers so as 
not to arouse the men. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 21 1 


“What do you think of it, Fred?'^ asked Norman. 

“ I don't know what to think," confessed Warner. 
“ I felt confident at first that it was a great big bluflP; 
but now I'm not so sure of it." 

“ That fellow is undoubtedly a game warden," 
declared Norman. “ He's got the papers to show for 
it; but I don't believe he’d ever have arrested us on 
any such a flimsy charge if he hadn't had some other 
motive than a sense of duty for doing it." 

“ I never heard of any one being arrested for break- 
ing the game laws under such circumstances," said 
Fred. “ It's simply preposterous, and Gusty Peters 
knows it as well as you and I do." 

“ That's what I think," said Norman. “ Meanwhile 
we must put our wits to work, and plan to get away. 
Do you think you could find your way back to Cham- 
berlain dam ? " 

“ I haven't any doubt of it," declared Fred, con- 
fidently. 

“ We'll have to keep our eyes and ears wide open," 
declared Norman. 

“Yes — sure," responded Warner, drowsily. 

For a few moments Norman lay awake turning over 
in his mind the events of the day, and then fell as 
soundly asleep as his companion. 

He was awakened, a little past midnight, by the 
sound of voices talking in subdued tones in the eating- 
camp. Looking cautiously through a hole between the 
chinking, he saw that a dim kerosene lamp burned on 


212 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the long table, at the foot of which was Gusty Peters 
facing a tall, smoothly-shaven man of middle age, whose 
sallow complexion and long, white hands indicated that 
he had participated in little if any of the hard physical 
work of the woods life. 

It was evident that the newcomer was not in a 
pleasant frame of mind. 

“ You might just as well recognize, Peters, that the 
game is up, and get back to your work,” he said, 
sharply. “ You must remember, now and hereafter, 
that I never sanctioned this scheme of yours. You’ve 
made a sorry mess of it, and now you’d better quit 
and clear out.” 

“ I’ll win out yet,” responded Peters, doggedly. 
“ You may be as virtuous as you like, Mr. Falkenham. 
We never intended to draw you into this matter any- 
way.” 

But if you were bound to carry out this purpose of 
yours why didn’t you do so the very next night, when 
Sam Wilkins must have been alone at the dam?” 

‘‘Thet’s jest what we started out to do,” declared 
Peters, sullenly; “but afore we got out o’ the black- 
growth path beyond here we run afoul of a ghost.” 

“A ghost?” repeated Falkenham, incredulously. 

“ Thet’s what it was,” asserted Peters, calmly. “ It 
was ole Death himself. I saw him, and so did the 
others, jest es plain es I see you.” 

“Bosh!” retorted Falkenham, impatiently. “Did 
he carry his scythe ? ” he asked, with a sneer. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 213 


‘‘ I couldn’t say for sure,” responded Peters, who 
was evidently nettled at the disbelief of his auditor, 
“ but one thing I know, he had the sneth. I saw it in 
his hands. I didn’t care to see whether it carried th’ 
steel or not. I make no bones o’ sayin’ thet I wasn’t 
hankerin’ t’ investigate.” 

‘‘ Peters, Pm astonished at you,” said Falkenham, 
contemptuously. “ I didn’t dream that there was any- 
thing on earth that you were afraid of. You probably 
saw a stump.” 

“ Stump ! ” snorted Peters, resentfully. “ Don’t ye 
s’pose Pve worked in the woods long enough to know 
a stump when I see it? Stumps don’t walk, nor hev 
voices. The ole feller we saw could skim along th’ 
ground without tetchin’ it, an’ hed a voice like th’ day 
o’ jedgment. I wasn’t goin’ t’ let th’ boys know I 
was skeered; but I don’t mind tellin’ ye thet it made 
th’ goose-flesh stan’ out all over me.” 

“What did he look like?” demanded Falkenham, 
skeptically. 

“ You’ve seen them pictures of ole Death with the 
scythe, hev’n’t ye?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Wal, thet was him,” declared Peters, with con- 
viction. “ Th’ very same feller.” 

“ Humph ! ” grunted Falkenham. 

“Ye needn’t believe it if ye don’t want to,” said 
Peters, irritably, “ but what I’m a-tellin’ ye’s true, 
every word on it. There was five on us started out 


214 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


together — me "’ll’ Jake an’ th’ three Frenchmen. I 
allowed t’ hev Jake an’ one o’ th’ Frenchmen keep 
Wilkins busy, an’ lead him a chase, while me an’ t’other 
two, who would be hid near-by, would steal out when 
things was ripe, an’ finish up our job. I tell ye I was 
goin’ t’ give her a charge thet would fetch her thet 
time fer good an’ all. Wal, jest es we got ’bout half 
way along thet path through th’ black-growth th’ moon 
came out of a cloud an’ lit up th’ way. It was right 
then we see a sight thet lifted our hair. Stan’in’ down 
th’ path, not more’n two or three rods away was ole 
Death himself.” 

‘‘Sho!” said Falkenham, with interest. 

‘‘ He was tall ’n’ thin es a skeleton, an’ he hed th’ 
flesh of a corpse,” continued Peters, ignoring the inter- 
ruption. “ He hed long white hair an’ a white beard 
thet come nigh to his knees. He skipped towards us 
a ways without tetchin’ of the ground. His eyes 
burned like two coals o’ fire. Then he rested his 
scythe on th’ ground, pointed his skeleton forefinger 
straight et us an’ screamed ‘ Accursed ! accursed ! ’ in 
a voice thet wasn’t human. It grew in a graveyard. 
An’ then he vanished — yes, sir! Went out o’ sight 
quicker’n a flash.” 

“And the men were frightened?” said Falkenham, 
interrogatively. 

“ Scared blue. Never see nothin’ like it. Black 
Jake Jasper, one o’ the nerviest men I ever knew, 
jumped up an’ down an’ hollered like a loon. I thought 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 215 


for sure he’d gone daffy. It jest made my blood run 
cold. An’ them Frenchmen? Wal, don’t say a word! 
They sartin thought their last day hed come, an’ was 
a-rollin’ on th’ ground a-moanin’ an’^a-prayin’.” 

“ So you thought you wouldn’t go on, did you ? ” 
asked Falkenham. 

“We couldn’t,” declared Peters. “ I was glad 
enough to git thet gang back t’ camp. Hed t’ boot 
th’ whole on ’em afore I could do it. I saw plainly 
thet them Frenchmen would never be any more good 
t’ me. There wasn’t ary one on ’em thet would ever 
grow agin. Me an’ Jake went t’ bed an’ pretended t’ 
sleep; but they sot up all night on the deacon seat with 
their teeth a-chatterin’ like a gale o’ wind. I was con- 
vinced in th’ mornin’ thet it wouldn’t be the slightest 
use t’ keep them Frenchmen any longer, so I hustled 
’em back t’ th’ drive an’ told ’em t’ send me up Bar- 
botte an’ Poulin. I threatened ’em good if they men- 
tioned ghost to either one on ’em, an’ I reckon they 
didn’t or I’d ’a’ heard suthin’ erbout it.” 

“And is Jake dependable?” inquired Falkenham, in 
a tone of doubt. 

“ I think so — now,” responded Peters. “ I see he 
felt a little sheepish th’ next mornin’ an’ so I joshed 
’im erbout it. Reckon he’d stan’ his ground next time 
if we should ever run across thet critter agin, which 
I don’t think we shall.” 

“Do you know what I think?” demanded Falken- 
ham, sharply. 


2i6 with pickpole and peavey 


‘‘ I hev’n’t the slightest idee/’ admitted Peters. 

That you were a pack of cowards, without either 
courage or horse sense. If that apparition were alive, 
five big, strong men should have been able to handle 
him. If he were dead, he couldn’t hurt you anyway.” 

It’s all very well to say thet, Mr. Falkenham,” 
complained Peters. ‘‘ It’s mighty easy for any man 
t’ be brave under sartin conditions. It’s the onex- 
pected and the mysterious thet startles an’ skeers us. 
I reckon your back hair’d stiffen up a bit if ye was t’ 
run on t’ a thing like thet in the woods arter dark.” 

“ I’d never give it another thought,” declared Falk- 
enham. I have no doubt it was merely an optical 
delusion. Had you been drinking ? ” 

** Nary a drop.” 

Well, depend upon it, there was nothing in it. 
What are you going to do with those boys ? ” 

** Hold ’em here until we either complete our job 
on the dam or give it up.” 

“ They’re apt to be a couple of white elephants on 
your hands,” said Falkenham, nervously. “ Is one of 
them named Carver ? ” 

Yes.” 

** Well, he’s a son of General Carver, a leading 
lawyer of Boston, and a very wealthy man. If he 
starts out to gun you, there’ll be something doing, and 
don’t you forget it. He’s an old fighter from the 
drop of the hat.” 

“Wal, I hev’n’t any idee o’ hurtin’ th’ boys; but 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 217 


I want t' keep 'em out of our way for a few days. 
I don’t think they’ll make us much trouble. They think 
they’re under arrest for a-violatin’ of the game laws. 
I told ’em I was a game warden. I’ve handled ’em 
kind o’ easy, fer I wanted t’ keep ’em es quiet es 
possible. I even put up a bluff o’ hevin’ Black Jake 
go over t’ Chamberlain dam, an’ report th’ scrape they 
was in t’ Billy Eustace. He pertended t’ fetch back 
word from Billy for ’em to keep cool, an’ arrangements 
would be made for Major Dixson to defend ’em when 
they come to trial et Fort Kent. Ye see I brought 
along my brother’s commission es warden which came 
arter he left home. I was intendin’ t’ give it t’ him 
et Churchill Lake, but he had a call to look up some 
moose scrape over Island Pond way, an’ so I missed 
him. Ye ought t’ hev’ seen them boys when I flashed 
thet ’ere docyment on ’em. They swallowed the whole 
thing, bait, hook, an’ sinker,” he added, with a chuckle. 

Perhaps they did, and perhaps they didn’t,” 
responded Falkenham, doubtfully. “ You’re a good 
deal like a cow in a quagmire, Peters. You keep 
getting in deeper and deeper all the time. Don’t you 
know that you’ve laid yourself doubly liable by this 
transaction — first for impersonating an officer, and 
again for kidnapping? I don’t like it.” 

Perhaps ye’d better git out o’ this country an’ 
take no chances,” suggested Peters, impatiently. 

“ That’s precisely what I intend to do,” replied 
Falkenham, coolly. “ I’m only sorry now that I came 


2i8 with pickpole and peavey 


here at all. Can’t you see that your chances are all 
gone; that Eustace has a bigger force than you, and 
that you don’t stand a ghost of a chance to get at the 
dam again? This very escapade of yours in taking 
the boys was about the most foolish break you could 
possibly have made. They could have circled about 
the woods for weeks and never found this camp; but 
when Sol Soc gets out to hunt them it’s liable to be 
a very different story.” 

“What, is the Injun with Eustace?” asked Peters, 
uneasily. 

“ That’s what I heard to-day,” said Falkenham. 
“ How long do you suppose it will be before Eustace 
sends him and other men out to hunt for the boys? 
He’s got force enough from what I hear to spare a 
few good men and still keep up his work on the dam.” 

“ Perhaps they’ll all stop work and go t’ huntin’,” 
suggested Peters. “ If they do it won’t be so hard 
to get at the dam.” 

“ Eustace won’t neglect the dam. But he’ll be pretty 
sure to send out some of his men to look for the boys,” 
returned Falkenham. 

“ It will be worse for any on ’em if they come foolin’ 
’round this clearin’,” growled Peters. 

“ Depend upon it there won’t be any fooling when 
they get here,” responded Falkenham. “ You’ll hear 
something drop. If you’re wise you’ll recognize that 
the jig is up. You’re beaten. Give up this job, and 
get out of this section without any further delay.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 219 


“ Tm not so easily beaten,” declared Peters, dog- 
gedly. I’m somethin’ of a bulldog when I get my 
teeth sot.” 

“ Well, I must be getting back to the lake,” said 
Falkenham, rising. ** I’m afraid the boys in the canoe 
will think I’ve run away from them.” 

“ Oh, they’ve drawn her up on the shore an’ gone t’ 
sleep under her,” rejoined Peters, confidently. “ Reckon 
I’ll take a lantern an’ go ’long with ye.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE ESCAPE OF NORMAN AND FRED 

“ Fm sorry t’ keep ye in, a warm summer day like 
this,” said Peters to Norman and Fred as they left 
the breakfast table the next morning ; “ but ye see an 
officer is held responsible for his prisoners. One of 
our boys is goin’ out this arternoon t’ meet a party 
who are goin' down th’ Allegash. If ye’d like t’ write 
some letters he can take ’em out an’ git ’em mailed 
for ye.” 

Certainly I would, thank you, and I’m sure you 
would, Fred,” he added, with a significant look at his 
companion. 

‘‘ I should be very glad of a chance,” responded 
Warner, promptly. 

“ Wal, ye’ll find writin’ materials over th’ kitchen 
door, an’ can use th’ table in th’ eatin’-camp,” said 
Peters. ‘‘Ye can take all th’ time ye need. It’ll prob- 
ably be arter dinner afore our man gits away.” 

“ All right,” responded Norman. “ I’ve got a good 
deal to write.” 

“ Tell it all,” said Peters, good-naturedly. “ It will 
make a mighty interestin’ story.” 

No sooner were they seated together at the big table, 
220 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 221 


than Norman, making sure that they were not under 
espionage, related to Fred in a whisper all he had seen 
and heard the previous night. 

‘‘ The whole thing is clear enough, now ! exclaimed 
Warner, when Norman had finished his surprising 
story. “ That big rascal has a good deal of shrewd- 
ness along with his short-comings. He thinks he has 
us completely fooled.” 

“ Yes,” assented Norman, and we want him to 
keep on thinking so. We must take the first oppor- 
tunity to escape and warn Eustace.” 

“ It’s going to be something of a job to get away, 
Fm afraid,” returned Fred, gloomily. '' They won’t 
let us out of sight a minute. Sh-h ! — the cook is 
watching us now.” 

Perhaps they’ll grow more careless, if we appear 
to be reconciled,” suggested Norman. 

** Perhaps,” echoed Warner, dubiously. There’s 
some property that belongs to us,” he added, with a 
glance at the corner of the room where the shot-gun 
and rifle, which Peters and Jasper had taken from them 
at the time of their alleged arrest, leaned against the 
wall. Above them, hanging upon a peg in the camp 
rib, was Fred’s belt and six-shooter. 

Don’t you suppose we could get those guns and 
hold them up?” said Norman. 

‘‘ No,” returned Warner. Peters has, undoubt- 
edly, removed the cartridges, and besides they are too 
many for us.” 


222 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


You’re right,” admitted Norman. ** Strategy in 
this instance is preferable to open war.” 

“ And now for our letters,” said Warner. Of 
course Peters hasn’t the slightest intention of sending 
them; but if we failed to write them he would get 
suspicious at once.” 

For the next hour both boys scribbled industriously 
on long letters to General Carver and Mrs. Warner, 
endeavoring to make them so natural as to convince 
Peters that they were written in good faith, and yet 
to mislead him as to the true situation at the dam, by 
stating that Eustace had twenty-five men in his crew. 
When they were finished and sealed they were handed 
over to Peters, who generously volunteered to supply 
the stamps for them. 

For a time the boys sat upon the upper bunk watch- 
ing a spirited but good-natured sparring match between 
the two Frenchmen, who were provided with padded 
boxing gloves somewhat the worse for wear. 

It was a rough and tumble contest, with Peters 
backing one of the contestants, and Black Jake the 
other. 

Norman improved the opportunity, while this rough 
sport was in progress, to inspect the assortment of 
personal effects belonging to the men, that hung from 
the nails driven in the camp ribs. Here and there some 
aspiring logger had added to the convenience of his 
bunk by nailing a piece of board or cedar-split to one 
of the camp ribs near the head of his place in the 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 2^3 


upper bunk, forming an inclined shelf for storage pur- 
poses. There was such a shelf above the place in the 
long upper bunk where Gusty Peters had slept, and 
as Norman surveyed its varied accumulations he noted 
several tin tobacco boxes among them. Taking advan- 
tage of the interest of the men in the fun below, which 
was growing fast and furious, he worked his way along 
the upper bunk within reach of the shelf, and, improv- 
ing a favorable moment, reached out and secured the 
largest of these tin boxes, dropping it hastily behind 
the crumpled blankets. A moment later he dumped 
its contents into a hollow of the bedding. He threw 
his hat over the little pile of cartridges of various 
sizes, and apparently became absorbed in the boxing 
match. 

His maneuver had not entirely escaped observation, 
however, and there was a look of admiration in Fred 
WarnePs eyes as he took his seat on the front of the 
bunk in such a way as to hide Norman as much as 
possible from the observation of Gusty Peters and his 
men. Thus screened, Norman hastened to sort over 
the cartridges. They were a miscellaneous lot of odds 
and ends. Among them Norman recognized the two 
cartridges which had been removed from his shot-gun, 
seven 30-30’s which had evidently been pumped from 
the magazine of Warner’s Winchester, and six shorter 
cartridges which had been removed from his Colt’s 
revolver. Fred had carried no extra ammunition. 
Norman had worn a belt in which were a dozen or 


224 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


more surplus cartridges. This he had placed at his 
head upon retiring for the night; but in the morning 
it had disappeared, and Norman felt that the burly boss 
had taken good care of it. Evidently Peters had felt 
that no one need fear an unloaded weapon. 

Norman carefully stored the cartridges which Peters 
had taken from him and Warner, in his various pockets. 
Then, returning the remaining ones to the tin box, he 
took advantage of a favorable opportunity to replace 
it in its former position upon the shelf. A feeling of 
exultation came over him, in the reflection that when 
again they were in position to get possession of their 
weapons they would be able to render them effective. 

He pushed himself forward and took a seat on the 
front of the bunk beside Warner, dangling his legs 
above the deacon seat. Presently the door opened to 
admit a newcomer, a small, dark-eyed, wiry-looking 
man, whose skin had been baked and browned to such 
an extent by exposure to wind and weather, as to give 
it a distinctly leathery appearance. 

There was an immediate shout of recognition and 
greeting, and the two boxers, glad of an opportunity 
to forego their strenuous exercise, dropped, with per- 
spiring faces, upon the deacon seat. 

‘‘ Wal, wal, if here ain't Treffle Serois! Mighty glad 
t' see ye, ole man," said Peters, as he shook the new- 
comer’s hand with a grip that made him wince. “ Come 
out in the other room a minute," he added, “ I want 
t’ hev a little talk with ye." 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 225 


The two passed out into the eating-camp, and Nor- 
man and Fred exchanged significant glances. 

In a short time Peters reappeared with Serois, who 
was armed with the Winchester rifle which had been 
taken from Warner. 

“ Now look a-here, boys,” said the big boss, pausing 
in front of Norman and Fred. I don’t mind tellin’ 
of ye thet your presence here hes made us all late in 
goin’ to our work this mornin’ an’ I can’t afford t’ pay 
men t’ loaf. Now I’m a-goin’ t’ leave ye here with 
Treffle. He hes orders t’ use ye well an’ gin ye th’ 
run o’ th’ camp; but if ye try t’ escape he’ll shoot th’ 
both on ye. Them’s his orders, an’ ye must govern 
ye’selves accordin’.” 

We’re not hunting for trouble,” responded Nor- 
man, meekly. 

No, I don’t reckon ye air,” returned Peters, in a 
gratified tone. “ Come on, boys,” he added. Let’s 
get t’ work.” 

He passed out of the camp followed by Black Jake, 
and the two Frenchmen who had engaged in the spar- 
ring match, leaving Norman and Fred alone in the 
camp with the cook and Treffle Serois. 

The wiry little Frenchman watched them for a time 
with weasel-like intentness. He held his Winchester 
rifle across his knees in readiness for instant use. 

Let’s write some more letters,” suggested Norman 
to Fred. “ We’ve got plenty of time to do it here.” 

“ All right,” responded Warner, promptly. 


226 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ I t’ink dat prattee good t’ing for do,” declared 
Treffle, in a tone of relief. 

The boys passed out into the eating-camp, and were 
soon to all appearances busily engaged in letter writing. 
Peeking a little latep* through a place between the logs 
where the chinking was out, Norman saw that Serois 
had leaned his rifle up against the end of the camp, 
and was smoking his pipe with placid satisfaction. 

He’s a mark,” he whispered to Fred, confidently. 

Looks like it,” agreed Warner. ‘‘ Go out and 
entertain the cook,” he added, ** while I get hold of 
your shot-gun and my Colt’s.” 

“ Bon jour, M’sieu Carvarre,” said the smiling cook, 
cordially, as Norman entered the kitchen. 

‘‘ Good morning,” returned Norman, heartily. “ You 
see I’ve got a lot of spare time on my hands, just now, 
and I thought I’d come out, and let you teach me how 
to cook.” 

The knight of the kitchen greeted this announcement 
with a laugh, although it was very evident that he was 
not a little flattered by the suggestion. 

‘‘ Ba Joe ! I ban ver’ poor fellaire for teach you,” 
he said, deprecatingly. “ I only do few plain t’ing.” 

“ But you do them wonderfully well,” pursued 
Norman. 

“Oh, jus’ prattee fair, I gass, me,” responded the 
cook, with evident embarrassment. 

“ Did you make that nice mince-meat we had in the 
pies this morning?” inquired Norman. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 227 


“ No, dat ban Armour; com’ een beeg bucket. Lak 
dis,” replied the cook, pulling a large bucket from 
beneath his cooking shelf. “ Dat prattee good t’ing,” 
he added, with evident pride, as he pulled off the cover. 
“ Jus’ you tas’ heem,” he added, handing Norman a 
big iron spoon. 

“It’s great stuff,” declared Norman, when he had 
disposed of a generous sample. “ Is this all that you 
have that comes in buckets ? ” 

“ No, cranberry sauce, lak dis,” answered the cook, 
pulling out another bucket. “ I don’ t’ink me dere ban 
moche cranberry in dat,” he said. “ Eet ban prattee 
poor t’ing. Mos’ all made out hay-seed an’ apple 
paring.” 

“ It doesn’t taste much like cranberry, for sure,” 
admitted Norman, after he had critically eaten a spoon- 
ful. “ I think you’re just right. It’s nothing but a 
compound of apple parings and hay-seed.” 

“ Dat w’at I t’ink,” declared the cook, in a gratified 
tone. 

“ Well, I guess I might as well go back and finish 
my letters,” declared Norman, as he slowly turned and 
went back leisurely into the eating-camp. 

“Good job!” whispered Warner, approvingly. 
“You take the seven-shooter and capture Trefile, and 
I’ll follow with the cook. I reckon we’ll have to take 
’em along a piece with us.” 

“ There’s no other way,” acquiesced Norman. 

“Good luck to you,” whispered Warner, as he 


228 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


slipped the big Colt's revolver into Norman's hand 
under the table. 

Watching his opportunity when the cook was busy 
at his oven, Norman slipped the weapon under his coat. 
“ I guess I can carry it here, without exciting much 
suspicion," he said, as he hugged it to his body in the 
hollow of his arm. “ It all depends on perfect co-oper- 
ation," he whispered, as he rose from the table. 

“ I reckon I've got the soft end of it," responded 
Fred; ‘‘but you can certainly put up a better bluff 
than I can." 

Norman strolled leisurely into the men's camp, and 
took a seat near Treffle Serois. The Frenchman gave 
him a sharp glance, and, evidently satisfied that he was 
all right, resumed his smoking. 

“ Throw up your hands ! " 

Serois looked up with startled glance at Norman, 
in response to this sharp command, to find himself 
covered by a Colt's revolver. Almost impulsively he 
reached toward the Winchester that leaned against the 
end of the camp. 

“Stop!" shouted Norman, peremptorily. “If you 
touch that rifle, you're a dead man." 

Serois hastily withdrew his hand, rose slowly to 
his feet, and gazed into the muzzle of the Colt’s. His 
face suddenly grew white with fear as he raised both 
hands above his head. 

“ Don' shoot on me," he gasped. “ My gar 1 Dat 
ban beeg lie 1 Gusty ban tole me dem gun not loaded." 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 229 


Well, what do you think about it now? ’’ demanded 
Norman. 

I see de end dem bullet in ceelynder,” returned 
Treffle, weakly. 

“ Your eyesight is excellent,'’ said Norman. “ Now 
you may put your hands behind your back,” he ordered. 

Serois instantly did as directed. 

“ Step to the side of the camp.” 

Again Serois obeyed without hesitation. With a 
sigh of relief Norman stepped forward, and took pos- 
session of Warner’s Winchester. At this moment the 
door of the eating-camp was thrown open, and the 
cook appeared with white face, and hands clasped 
behind him, while Fred Warner followed close upon 
his heels with Norman’s double-barreled shotgun in 
his hands. 

Norman kicked open the camp door with his foot. 
“ Now march,” he said, sternly, and Serois promptly 
passed out into the clearing. “ You may go down the 
tote-road and across the bridge,” commanded Norman. 

Oh, Meester Carvarre ! ” exclaimed the cook, in 
tremulous tones, “ I deedn’t t’ink you go for harm 
to me.” 

‘‘ Don’t you worry,” responded Norman. “ You do 
just what we tell you and no harm will come to you.” 

They made their way down the tote-road, across the 
corduroy bridge over the brook, and up the opposite 
bank to the edge of the path that led into the black 
growth. Here they came to a halt. 


230 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Now/' said Norman, addressing the prisoners, 
“ we have no desire to do you any injury ; but we’re 
not going to be prisoners any longer. If you will 
keep your hands clasped behind you, and walk straight 
back and into the camp, without looking behind you, 
we won’t harm you. If you don’t we shall open fire 
on you.” 

The prisoners, thus admonished, turned about, and 
made their way down the hill, across the brook, and 
up the opposite slope. 

“Cut!” whispered Norman, and, turning quickly 
about, he and Fred sped down the road through the 
black growth at a furious pace. 

Suddenly, as they neared the meadow through which 
the dead-water wound its sluggish way, they heard 
voices coming up the bank. They had barely time to 
dash into the dark woods, and conceal themselves behind 
a dead-fall, when Gusty Peters and Black Jake Jasper 
put in an appearance. As the big Allegash boss and 
his lieutenant walked briskly down the path, a series 
of frantic shouts came from the direction of the camp. 

“ By th’ Great Horn Spoon I there’s suthin’ wrong 
et th’ camp,” exclaimed Peters, in a startled tone. 
“ Them boys air up t’ some caper ! ” 

He broke into a run, and, with Black Jake at his 
heels, disappeared in the direction of the clearing. 

“Skip!” whispered Norman, and in a moment he 
and Warner were making their way through the woods 
at an astonishing pace. Knowing full well that Peters 



The supply boat running the falls. — Page 230. 



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WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 231 


and his men would soon be in pursuit of them, they 
held their course at right angles to the path through 
the black growth. 

Presently they came to a steep embankment, that ran 
down into the swale thickly fringed with a black alder 
growth. 

“ There’s a brook or stream beyond those bushes,” 
panted Warner. But we’re liable to leave tracks 
here.” 

Not if we use this windfall,” said Norman, point- 
ing to where a large fallen tree extended down the 
slope, and into the bushes. 

“ There’s a good hiding-place under that old top,” 
gasped Fred. I reckon we’d better stow away there 
and rest up a spell.” 

The boys carefully made their way down the trunk 
of the old windfall, and were soon snugly hidden under 
its bushy top, which, hedged about by the alder bushes, 
made an almost ideal hiding-place. 

Presently they heard the quick, labored breath of a 
racing man, and Gusty Peters came threshing down 
the side of the hill. 

Not a track,” he muttered, hoarsely. He paused 
a moment, seated himself on the upper end of the big 
windfall, and wiped his perspiring face with a red 
bandana handkerchief of pretentious size. 

There was a sound of some one moving about further 
up the slope a moment later, and Peters, putting his 
fingers in his mouth, gave two long, shrill whistles. 


CHAPTER XIX 


AT THE HOME OF THE HERMIT 

The whistles given by Peters were immediately 
answered, and a moment later Black Jake Jasper came 
down the slope, and seated himself beside his leader. 

Pm afeared we’re dished, Jake,” declared the big 
leader, disconsolately. “ I was a blame fool to take 
th’ chances I did. Th’ boys simply played boss with 
them Frenchmen. Ketched ’em both unawares.” 

‘‘ Asleep an’ snorin’,” interposed Jasper. 

“ An’ fetched ’em right up t’ th’ edge o’ th’ black 
growth,” continued Peters, ignoring the interruption. 
“ Then they ’lowed ’em t’ walk back Spanish. Didn’t 
ary one on ’em dare t’ look behind ’em. It wasn’t till 
they got into th’ camp an’ peeked through th’ chinkin’ 
thet they see th’ coast was clear, an’ mustered up voice 
enough t’ yell.” 

‘‘ Hed ’em hypnotized all right,” said Jasper. 

“ I don’t want thet Warner t’ reach this stream,” 
continued Peters. ‘‘ He’s a nat’ral born woodsman. 
I could see he was keepin’ tabs on our course cornin’ 
in, a-lookin’ at th’ sun, a-watchin’ th’ moss on th’ 
trees, an a-notin’ th’ way th’ streams flowed. Now th’ 
minute he comes t’ this dead water and Aggers out 
232 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 233 


thet she’s flowin’ southeast he’ll know pretty well thet 
she empties into Chamberlain Lake. He won’t have 
t’ foller it a great ways afore he’ll come round th’ 
Ox-bow an’ hit th’ bridge on Tom Bowker’s tote-road. 
He’ll know very well thet it’ll lead him straight back 
t’ Chamberlain dam. Come on,” he added, ‘‘ we must 
arrange t’ guard th’ stream below th’ black growth an’ 
then we can come back an’ thresh out this section o’ 
th’ woods in detail.” 

Peters made his way up the slope at a rapid gait, 
followed by Black Jake. The boys, relieved at their 
departure, were about to leave their hiding-place when 
they were startled by a voice speaking to them from 
the other side of the alders. 

“ Whist, boys ! Sh-h ! Come through the bushes 
to the stream,” it said, in a low tone. 

‘‘Who are you, anyway?” demanded Norman. 

“ A friend,” replied the voice. 

“What do you say, Fred?” asked Norman. 

“ I reckon we’d better chance it,” said Fred. “ It 
isn’t possible for it to be one of Peters’ gang.” 

Crawling through the alders, the boys stood upon 
the marshy shore of the stream face to face with a 
man in a canoe. 

“ Dave Umber ! ” they gasped in chorus. 

“ At your service, young friends,” was the response. 
“ Were those accursed men pursuing you ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Norman. 

“ Ah, I thought so,” returned Umber. “ It were 


234 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


better for both of them that they devote their time to 
fleeing from the wrath to come” he added, in mournful 
tones. 

“ Even as they fled from you,’^ declared Norman, 
with a sudden confirmation of the suspicion he had 
secretly entertained as to the identity of Gusty Peters' 
ghost. 

The faint suggestion of a smile relaxed the solemn 
features of the hermit for a brief moment, and then 
passed away, leaving them more funereal than ever. 

“ 'Twas well they stood not on the order of their 
going," he declared, in a thin, shrill voice. 

Reckon you stiffened up their back hair a little," 
commented Warner, but the hermit made no response, 
and the boys did not pursue the subject further. The 
old man appeared about as they had last seen him, 
except that his waxy features were, if anything, a trifle 
thinner and sharper. 

He sat midway of a long, birch-bark canoe of some- 
what clumsy workmanship, and his long white hair, 
and flowing beard, gave him the look of a patriarch. 

“ I judge you would flee the tents of the wicked, and 
hide yourselves from the eyes of thine enemies? " said 
Umber, in a tone of mournful inquiry. 

That's just what we're up to," responded Norman. 

“ It was very fortunate that I was at hand to hear 
thee in thy distress," said Umber, solemnly. 

How did you happen to be here anyway ? " asked 
Norman. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 235 


I was fishing on the still beaver water,” was the 
response. 

The still beaver water? ” repeated Warner, vaguely. 

“ Yes, this dead water is the result of a beaver dam 
three miles below here,” explained the hermit. 

“What do you catch here?” asked Norman. 

“ These,” responded Umber, displaying a beautiful 
string of trout that weighed from half a pound to a 
pound apiece. “ If you would escape thine enemies,” 
he continued, “ you must come with me. I can furnish 
thee an asylum and a resting-place. If thee tarry here 
surely thou shalt fall again into the hands of thine 
enemies.” 

“ I think we’d better go with him, Fred,” declared 
Norman. 

They took their places in the canoe, and with a long, 
steady sweep of his paddle the hermit drove them up 
the dead-water at a rapid pace. As they advanced the 
stream widened into what seemed to be a shallow lake, 
but which Umber told them was really a submerged 
bog. Occasionally, he said, in the fall, following a 
season of drouth, it became dry enough to cross on 
foot. Once this had happened in an ordinary summer, 
when some miscreant released the water by blowing 
out the beaver dam. 

As they went across the stretch of almost stagnant 
water, they came in view of a high and heavily wooded 
headland that stood boldly out into the bog and fell 
away in almost sheer descent to the water’s edge. 


236 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ That looks as if it might have been a big horse- 
back once,” said Warner. 

“ Some giant may have cut it off short with his big 
knife to give the bog a chance,” responded Norman, 
lightly. 

To all appearances the bog stretched away before this 
promontory, but, to the surprise of the boys. Umber 
turned his canoe sharply around its projecting front, 
and followed along the steep slope of its further side 
to a small, narrow stream that wound between banks 
so heavily grown with alders that the branches almost 
overlapped. Around about them was a dense black- 
growth that extended from the rear of the alder growth 
to the higher ground beyond. It was a way at once 
dark and foreboding. So well was the entrance to it 
concealed that it would have been almost certain to 
have escaped the attention of one not specially looking 
for it. The waters of the alder-shaded stream were 
dark and stagnant. The atmosphere that surrounded 
it was permeated with the moist and pungent odors 
of decaying vegetation. In places along the steamy 
shores, where the water widened into shallows, Nor- 
man and Fred could see the dark, black muck, of 
almost liquid consistency, that formed the bottom. 
For a time they followed their dark and winding way 
among the alder bushes between banks so close together 
in places as to afford barely room enough for the canoe 
to pass between them. Then suddenly their frail craft 
emerged from the alder growth into a wide expanse of 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 237 


dark water, surrounded by steep banks heavily wooded 
with black growth down to the water’s edge. 

‘‘The Devil’s punch bowl!” exclaimed Norman. 

“ No,” responded Umber. “ It’s his ink pot. See,” 
he added, driving his long paddle through the shallow 
water, and lifting its blade above the surface, spoon- 
fashion, dripping with dark liquid muck. 

“ Three feet of water, and a thousand feet of mud,” 
he quavered. “ There’s no bottom to this. It runs 
clear through the earth and comes out on the other 
side in a big tea garden in China. It is a passage way 
for bones,” he added, solemnly. 

“What bones?” asked Norman, curiously. 

“ All bones,” responded Umber. “ It’s the suction 
of the mud,” he added, vaguely. “ When once it gets 
its hold on any living creature it never lets go. It is 
relentless. It pulls him down, down, like a demon. 
It sucks his blood, devours his flesh, and gives only his 
bones to China.” 

He paused and gave vent to an uncanny laugh, so 
wild, and shrill, and long drawn out, that it made the 
blood of his two passengers run cold, and filled them 
with a vague terror and uneasiness. 

Almost immediately, however, the mood of Umber 
changed. 

“ Be of good cheer, young friends,” he said. “ These 
things are not for us. We know the dangers thereof 
and will pass them by.” 

“ Nature has been filling this big storage basin for 


238 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


centuries with the wash of decaying leaves and wind- 
falls, while the rains that have filled it have served to 
keep its entire contents in a partial state of solution,” 
remarked Norman, who had been studying the con- 
ditions about him with curious interest. 

There are springs in the mud,” remarked Umber. 
“ I’ve seen them boil, and boil in many places.” 

‘‘ They would naturally break out near the bottom 
of such a place as this,” declared Warner, who had a 
woodsman’s instinct in locating water supplies. 

“ I don’t think I should like to go in swimming 
here,” said Norman. ‘‘ If the suction of that mud 
should once get a grip on any one I don’t imagine 
that it would ever let go of him.” 

“ It would pull him down, down, down, to the end 
of time,” crooned Umber, solemnly. 

He swung his canoe to the right, and the boys saw 
that what they had first taken to be the further side 
of the punch bowl,” was, in reality, a high, heavily 
wooded island, whose steep, heavy sides rose precipi- 
tously from the depths of black muck and water. A 
narrow stretch of sluggish water separated it on either 
side from the main slopes of the big punch bowl, while, 
beyond its further end, the waters widened into a mud 
pond of considerable extent. 

Down the comparatively narrow stretch of water, 
that lay between the left side of the island and the 
almost precipitous heights of the mainland. Umber 
drove his canoe with long, swinging dips of his paddle. 


WITH PlCKPOLE AND PEAVEY 239 


Norman and Fred gazed in wonder at the sinewy 
strength of this cadaverous-looking old man, who had 
impressed himself upon Gusty Peters and his men as 
the very impersonation of death. 

Presently they rounded a projecting point of the 
island, which sloped gently to the water’s edge, and 
which was densely covered with cat spruces, merging 
near the shore into a heavy alder growth. Beyond this 
growth they entered a little cove. 

As they did so a cry of delight came from both of 
the boys. The scene before them was indeed one that 
might well arouse their enthusiasm. The side of the 
island came down at this point with gentle slope to a 
dark, sandy beach. Back of this beach was a clearing 
about two acres in extent, inclosed on its three land 
sides with a living wall of heavy evergreen growth. 
Midway of this clearing with its front end facing the 
beach was a small cabin of peeled logs from the back 
end of which about four feet of stone chimney pro- 
jected above the ridgepole. A short distance away in 
the rear of this cabin was a rougher one of unpeeled 
logs which the boys took to be a wood-shed. Both 
cabins were carefully shingled, and gave evidence of 
some care in construction. 

In the rear of these building^ Was a large half- 
grown _^rden with a specially good-sized potato patch. 
It was apparent that the hermit was something of a 
farmer, as well as a fisherman. 

“ You used shaved shingles on that roof,” said 


240 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Warner, as he and Norman stepped ashore from the 
canoe, and stood looking, in fascinated wonder, upon 
the scene before them. 

The hermit, who with one strong pull had drawn his 
canoe well up on the shore, turned to them with a face 
beaming with pride. 

Yes,” he said. “ I shaved them myself.” He 
spread out his long, thin hands. “ With these, and 
God’s help,” he said, reverently, “ I created this clear- 
ing and these buildings.” 

“ ‘ Man wants but little here below, 

Nor wants that little long,’ ” 

he quoted. ‘‘ The nearer we live to the great heart 
of Nature,” he added, ‘‘ the fewer and simpler are our 
needs.” 

The conversation was interrupted at this point by 
a small fox terrier that came racing madly from the 
woods in the rear of the clearing, and leaped joyfully 
upon the hermit, who caressed him with many affec- 
tionate pats. 

Did old Bozy get lonesome ? ” he asked, solicitously. 

The dog answered with a low whine. 

He says ‘ yes’,” declared the hermit, delightedly, 
turning to the boys. “ He is a most gifted dog,” he 
added, gravely. “ Oftentimes when the nights are dark, 
and God’s winds sway the tree-tops, Bozy and I have 
sat before the fire and talked things over by the hour.” 

He paused and looked at the dog, who responded 
promptly with a sharp bark. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 241 


‘‘ You see he backs up what I say/’ declared the 
hermit, with shining eyes. “ Here, Bozy, are two new 
friends I’ve brought you,” he added, with a glance at 
Norman and Fred. 

Again the hermit indulged in a child-like laugh of 
pleasure. 

He accepts you,” he said. “ Your credentials are 
endorsed. Welcome to Foxlair.” 

“ You’ve made panel doors to your cabins,” said 
Norman, as they strolled leisurely up the path to the 
hermit’s home. 

“ Yes,” responded Umber. My father was a mason, 
and I worked with him more or less as a boy. I learned 
the carpenter’s trade, and worked at it until I went to 
college to fit myself for the law.” 

Are you a lawyer?” asked Norman. 

The hermit’s mood had changed, and it was evident 
that he only partially understood the question. He 
stretched up his long arms with suppliant gesture, and 
gazed, with a far-away look, into the hazy blue of the 
sky. 

I am a child of Nature,” he cried, in a high, shrill 
voice. I hear her voices. I follow her summons. 
I live in the sunshine of God’s care and mercy.” 

The boys forebore to question him further, and 
presently he opened the door of the cabin and ushered 
them within. A large coon cat came forward, and 
rubbed his fluffy sides against the hermit’s legs with 
happy purrs. 


242 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘And is old Blackstone glad to see Dave?’’ he 
inquired anxiously. 

The cat responded with a loud meow. 

“ See that! ” exclaimed the hermit, joyously. “ That 
bears out what I tell you. I am attuned to the uni- 
versal harmonies. Everything in Nature has a voice 
for me.” 

The boys did not reply, being busily engaged in 
making an inspection and mental inventory of the 
cabin. It bore the evidence of patient and careful 
workmanship. The log walls had been plumbed and 
a neat spruce dado, laid in narrow sheathing, ran 
around the room to a height of almost four feet. 

“ I worked that out from the trees,” said the hermit, 
with evident satisfaction in his handicraft. 

“ It must have been a job,” said Norman. 

“ It was,” agreed Umber, “ but I didn’t do it all 
in one day. The secret of successful workmanship is 
patience. A little at a time, perhaps, but that little 
done thoroughly and well.” 

The interior of the roof was covered with an old 
canvas neatly stretched upon the camp ribs. 

“ An old driving tent that was given me,” said 
Umber. “ It was full of holes when I got it, but I 
sewed it up and made it answer.” 

The space between the top of the dado and the lower 
edges of the canvas was covered with deerskins so 
interlapped as to form a continuous stretch around the 
room, 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 243 


“ Shot them, and tanned the hides myself,'’ explained 
the hermit, briefly. 

Midway of the further end of the camp was a huge 
stone fireplace. 

The floor was made of narrow strips of plank, worked 
with a broadaxe from small spruce trees, and smoothed 
and jointed with draw-shave and plane, at the obvious 
expense of no small amount of care and labor. Midway 
of it, near the door, was a cook-stove whose funnel sus- 
pended by hay wire from screw eyes extending through 
the canvas above into the camp ribs, ran into the big 
stone chimney about two feet below the roof peak. 
To the left of the doorway was a neat dish closet above 
a jointed sink, which found sewerage by means of a 
wooden pipe extending through the log wall. The 
space beneath the sink was sheathed in and provided 
with a door, which had a wooden latch and swung on 
wooden hinges. The little closet thus provided served 
as a storage place for cooking utensils. On the oppo- 
site side of the room in the corner nearest the fireplace 
were two bunks, one above the other, which were sup- 
plied with fresh fir boughs, and clean blankets. Four 
small windows, one in each wall, lighted the room. 
A number of odds and ends hung upon wooden hooks 
along the stretch of deerskin, a Winchester rifle, a pair 
of snow-shoes, a shotgun, and a number of garments 
reinforced with innumerable patches. A big chest at 
the foot of the bunk, evidently contained the most 
cherished of the hermit’s possessions. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE REAPPEARANCE OF GUSTY PETERS 

From the cabin Norman and Fred followed their 
strange guide to his workshop, in which he evidently 
felt a just pride. A long work-bench ran the entire 
length of it on one side. This was provided with a 
strong wooden vise at one end. Above the bench were 
arranged a number of small shelves, and a rough cab- 
inet of drawers for the storage of tools, of which the 
hermit evidently had a fine assortment. He also had 
a considerable collection of various odds and ends of 
hardware. At one end of the camp opposite the work- 
bench was a combined iron vise and anvil. Near it 
was a grindstone which worked by foot-power. At 
the opposite end of the camp was a small forge, which 
found draught through a stone chimney. There was 
a hoe, a rake, and a spade, with which the hermit 
evidently tilled his garden patch, and also two axes, in 
addition to a big broadaxe which he had evidently used 
with no little skill in the construction of his camp. 

An hour after arriving at the hermit’s home the boys 
sat down with him to a hearty dinner of fried trout 
and baked potatoes. The afternoon was spent in a 
leisurely exploration of the little island, with faithful 
244 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 245 


Bozy following delightedly at their heels. Both he 
and Blackstone had unqualifiedly approved of Norman 
and Fred, and were already on the best of terms with 
them. 

They had corned deer meat and potatoes for supper 
that evening, and retired at an early hour to the upper 
bunk, which had been assigned them by the hermit, 
glad of an opportunity to secure a good night’s rest 
after the changes and excitements of the day. 

They awoke the following morning to find them- 
selves the sole occupants of the cabin. The hermit was 
gone. Neither Norman nor Fred attached any special 
importance to this fact. Obviously he was a restless 
character, and was probably up at sunrise to hoe in 
his garden. As they stepped from the cabin into the 
hazy light of the morning, Bozy, who was waiting 
outside, leaped upon them with the most joyous and 
friendly greeting. Blackstone also put in an appear- 
ance proudly exhibiting a field mouse, which he carried 
in his mouth, as a specimen of his prowess. 

“ I reckon Umber has left the island,” declared 
Norman. If he were here Bozy wouldn’t be very 
far from his heels.” 

“No doubt of that,” agreed Fred. “ Besides, his 
canoe is gone.” 

“ So it is,” said Norman, glancing at the beach. 
“ Perhaps he’s after another mess of trout for break- 
fast.” 

“ Perhaps,” repeated Warner, doubtfully, “ and then 


246 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


again he ma/be on his way to Gusty Peters to drive 
a sharp bargain for us.’^ 

“ I don’t believe anything of the kind,” declared 
Norman, with conviction. “ This man has trusted you 
and me implicitly. He has taken us to the heart of 
the still beaver waters, and left us in full charge of 
his home and his possessions. He has shown all con- 
fidence in us, and we must have some faith in him.” 

‘‘ How can we? ” asked Fred. Don’t you see that 
he’s as crazy as a loon ? ” 

“ No,” replied Norman, with decision. “ I don’t see 
anything of the kind. A man as crazy as that would 
never show the mechanical skill, or the sense of clean- 
liness and order that are exhibited here. Umber is 
doubtless, to some extent, mentally unbalanced, and 
his imagination plays him some tricks in the way of 
delusions ; but there is method in all he does, and much 
of his conversation is as natural as yours and mine. 
I believe, Fred, that this old man is a true friend, and 
that he will be loyal to us whatever may happen.” 

‘‘ I hope you’re right, Norman,” responded Fred. 
“ I’m willing to acknowledge that I’d a good deal 
rather take my chances with him than with Gusty 
Peters and his gang.” 

“ He’s an educated man,” declared Norman, ‘‘ and 
I am sure that he is a good one. If he has ever done 
wrong it has been the result of some mental vagary, 
rather than any defect of character.” 

“ I reckon that’s so,” assented Warner, “ but just 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 247 


think of the temptation he’s under at times. He hasn’t 
very much to eat at this minute, and there may be 
times when he actually goes hungry.” 

“ He should certainly be able to raise what potatoes 
he needs the year round,” declared Norman. 

‘‘ That’s so,” assented Fred, “ but potatoes without 
salt pork are only half a diet.” 

‘‘ That’s probably what brought him to our wangan 
that night,” said Norman, “ but that was a good way 
from home.” 

“ A jaunt like that means very little to a man like 
him, especially when he can make the greater part of 
it in a canoe,” returned Fred. “ He probably knows 
this whole section as well as you or I know our alpha- 
bet.” 

“ Well, let’s see what we can dig out for breakfast,” 
said Norman. 

“ Our best outlook will be the potato hole,” declared 
Warner. 

Together the boys made their way to the upper end 
of the garden where a wooden door led into an exca- 
vation in the side of the hill. A framework of logs 
formed its front, the whole being deeply banked at top 
and sides with the earth removed from the excavation. 

‘‘ Looks like a tomb,” commented Norman, as they 
stood by its entrance. 

I reckon we’ll find it a very practical sort of a 
cellar,” declared Warner, as he pulled open the rough 
plank door. 


248 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Stepping within, the boys found themselves in a dark 
cavern extending about sixteen feet into the hillside. 
In the far end, by the light that struggled through the 
doorway, they found a few bushels of potatoes in a 
heap upon the earth floor. There were also two pork 
barrels, one of which was empty, and the other about 
half filled with corned venison. Beyond these articles, 
the potato hole was empty. 

“ Mr. Umber is certainly up against a scanty com- 
missary department,” declared Norman. 

“ I feel as if it would almost be an imposition for 
us to levy on it,” returned Fred. 

There’s one satisfaction,” said Norman. “ If we 
ever get out of this scrape I’ll see to it that the old 
man isn’t as hard up again for some time to come. 
As it is, we’ll have to take a few of his potatoes. I 
can’t say that I’m hankerin’ for any of his salt junk.” 

Selecting a few potatoes they left the hillside cellar, 
and stood for a moment inspecting the hermit’s garden, 
which was already giving signs of a thrifty growth. 
There was a good-sized patch of potatoes, a big stretch 
of turnips, and bush beans of the wild-goose ” variety. 
There were also onion, beet and carrot beds, and a 
good-sized plot of peas. In the immediate rear of the 
cabin was a small piece of land which had been planted 
to old-fashioned flowers — marigolds, lavender, pop- 
pies, bachelor’s buttons, sweet William and hollyhocks, 
showing that the hermit was not lacking a vein of 
sentiment in his farming pursuits. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 249 


Passing into the cabin the boys soon had a good fire 
burning in the cook-stove. 

“We are like a couple of Robinson Crusoes/’ laughed 
Norman, as he put the potatoes in the oven to bake. 

“ Not quite so far from the mainland,'’ replied 
Warner. 

“ No, but still I don't believe you'd care to swim 
there," said Norman. 

“ It would be easy if it were not for the muck," 
responded Fred. 

“ These potatoes seem to be about the whole bill of 
fare," said Norman, who had been rummaging in the 
closets of the cabin. “ This little bag of salt is the 
whole outfit." 

“Isn't there any tea, coffee, or sugar?" asked 
Warner. 

“ Not a thing," replied Norman. “ I guess Mr. 
Umber is content to get all his liquid supplies from 
the spring at the foot of the garden." 

“ Good air and good water are fine appetizers ; but 
they won’t set the table,” declared Fred. 

“ I saw some worm holes in the black soil under 
the sink spout," said Norman. “ How do you suppose 
the worms crossed the channel ? " 

“ In Umber’s pocket," replied Warner, confidently. 
“ If there really are worms there you may be sure he 
brought them to the island and planted them here. 
I'll soon find out.” 

He hastened to the workshop, and secured a spade. 


250 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Hurrah ! Here’s half a dozen good ones,” he cried, 
exultantly, as he turned the first shovel full of earth. 

All you’ll need this morning,” declared Norman. 
“ I think I’d better stay and watch the fire. We mustn’t 
take any chances with those potatoes.” 

Twenty minutes later Warner was back with two 
good-sized pickerel. “ These were all that bit,” he 
said, “ although I saw a hornpout scuttle away into 
the mud.” 

“ These are all right,” declared Norman. We’ll 
make out a breakfast fit for a king.” 

I imagine most of them would be glad to sit down 
to one with so good an appetite as either one of us 
will bring to this,” declared Warner. 

“ I wish you’d go up to the potato hole and see if 
there is a piece of pork in that barrel of corned veni- 
son,” said Norman. 

Warner hurried away while Norman went to the 
spring to fill the wooden water pail. As he placed it 
on the shelf beside the sink, Fred returned to the cabin 
with several thin slices of salt pork on the tin plate he 
had taken with him. 

‘‘ Do you know,” he declared, ‘‘ I think the small 
junk I cut this from was part of the piece we gave 
Umber when we turned him loose from our camp on 
the Sebois.” 

‘‘ It is a return of the bread we threw upon the 
waters,’’ responded Norman. “ I suppose a barrel of 
pork would mean more to the poor old fellow than a 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 251 


gold mine or a barrel of bank stocks would to most 
people/' 

He must earn some money," declared Warner. 

What makes you think so ? " 

‘‘ Why, didn't you see that pile of traps under his 
work-bench ? " 

I didn't notice them," confessed Norman. 

“ Well, there are a lot of them of all shapes and 
sizes. I imagine that the old man traps pretty steadily 
through the fall and winter. Of course, there's always 
spruce gum to be had in this section." 

He must have had some source of income," admit- 
ted Norman, “ but it's very evident that he is in mighty 
hard sledding just at present." 

In a short time the fish and potatoes were cooked, 
and the boys sat down to a hearty breakfast. Later 
they worked for a time weeding the garden. As the 
day advanced the sun beat down upon the little island 
with a relentless heat, while the atmosphere became 
close and oppressive. Many dragon flies, of gorgeous 
color, skimmed the still waters about the island, and 
the silence of the drowsy shore was broken by the drone 
and hum of myriad insects. 

At length, even the cabin itself, already warm from 
the heat of the cook-stove, became intolerable, and, 
taking Norman's double-barreled shotgun, the boys, 
accompanied by faithful Bozy, retired to the cooler 
shelter of the woods. 

‘‘ It looks to me as if a storm were brewing," 


252 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


declared Fred, as they sat upon a mossy knoll, and 
wiped the perspiration from their faces. 

‘‘ But there’s scarcely a cloud in the sky,” objected 
Norman. 

“No,” admitted Fred; “but it isn’t the clouds that 
are the best prophets in this country at this season of 
the year. It’s the condition of the atmosphere.” 

“Sh-h! There’s a partridge,” whispered Norman, 
warningly. 

Fred, following his gaze, saw a beautiful birch par- 
tridge strutting along the top of a windfall. 

A shot from the gun brought it promptly to the 
ground. 

“Hurrah!” said Norman, gleefully, as he proudly 
exhibited his prize to Warner. “ Here’s our dinner, 
Fred.” 

“ I hope we sha’n’t have to share it with Gusty 
Peters,” replied Warner, soberly. 

A shadow of apprehension clouded Norman’s face. 

“ I didn’t think of that,” he admitted, regretfully. 
“ You don’t imagine Gusty’s gang heard that, do 
you ? ” 

“ I’m not sure,” replied Warner, doubtfully. “ The 
report of a gun carries a good way on a still day like 
this.” 

“ It wouldn’t locate us anyway,” said Norman. 

“ Not definitely,” assented Fred; “ but it would give 
any one who heard it a general idea of our direction.” 

That noon they feasted upon broiled partridge and 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 253 


mashed potato, dividing the remnants of their repast 
between Bozy and Blackstone. 

‘‘ It’s mighty strange what’s become of Umber,” said 
Warner, as they cleared away the tin dinner dishes. 
“ I can’t help thinking that he may be trying to drive 
a sharp bargain with Peters. Just think what the sur- 
plus supplies of that camp would mean to him just 
now.” 

“ I can’t think that,” returned Norman, resolutely. 
“ Whatever the weaknesses of Umber may be, I don’t 
believe that treachery is one of them. He brought us 
here and left us in complete possession of his little 
world, because he trusted us. The least we can do is 
to return the compliment.” 

“ Perhaps you’re right, Norman,” replied Warner, 
in a doubtful tone. ‘‘ I only wish I could feel as sure 
of him as you do. I’ve almost felt to-day as if the 
right thing for us to do would be to build a raft and 
clear out of here.” 

“ I believe we’re safer right where we are,” declared 
Norman, firmly. “We at least have a comfortable 
shelter, and can find enough to eat, even if the range 
of diet is a trifle limited. We are certainly in no 
danger of starving.” 

“ Well, I’m with you whatever you decide to do,” 
declared Warner, in a tone of resignation. “ Let’s get 
into the woods and cool off. This room is like an 
oven.” , 

“ If I were in Umber’s place I should get a Dutch 


254 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


oven and plan to do my summer cooking out of doors,” 
declared Norman. ‘‘Do you suppose that Umber has 
ever been a river driver? ” he asked, noticing a pickpole 
suspended on some pegs beneath the cabin eaves. 

“ No,” said Fred, with a critical glance at this 
implement of the drive. “ That’s one he made him- 
self. They don’t usually take so much pains with them. 
He found the ring and pick somewhere — probably in 
a broken piece that the drivers had thrown away — 
and fitted a new pole to them.” 

“ He may have used it in floating some of his timber 
across the punch bowl,” suggested Norman. 

“ I imagine that’s just what he made it for,” acqui- 
esced Fred. 

“ My shotgun isn’t much good now,” declared Nor- 
man, a little ruefully, as they started for the woods 
with Bozy joyfully leading the way. “ I’ve only one 
cartridge left.” 

“ Never mind,” declared Fred. “ I’ve got my Colt’s 
revolver. So we shall be all right, even if we should 
meet a bear.” 

A little later in the afternoon, as they were returning 
to the cabin, Bozy broke into excited barks, and almost 
immediately they heard the quick, sharp sound of chop- 
ping axes. 

With pale faces they hurried to the clearing, and 
looked across the channel to the steep main shore, 
where, halfway up the sharp slope. Gusty Peters and 
Black Jake Jasper were busily engaged in felling a tall 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 255 


spruce, whose top, with wood still showing fairly white, 
had evidently been carried away by some recent gale. 

“They’re making a bridge!” exclaimed Norman. 

“ That’s just what they’re doing,” returned Warner. 
“ We’ve been sold out.” 

“ If that man attempts to lay a hand on me. I’ll 
give him the full benefit of the cartridge in this gun,” 
declared Norman, firmly, “ and it’s loaded with buck- 
shot.” 

“ I reckon I’ll take along the Winchester,” declared 
Warner; “ and the pickpole,” he added, with a burst of 
inspiration. “ They shall never land that log on this 
shore.” 

They made their way to the cabin, and securing the 
rifle and pickpole, went at once to the little beach, Bozy 
preceding them with furious barks. As they reached 
the shore the mighty spruce fell with a roar, its upper 
end resting lightly in the mud and water a few feet 
beyond the island shore. 

“Just a pattern ! ” exclaimed Black Jake, exultantly. 

For the first time Peters recognized the boys. 

“ Hello I he said, turning towards them, with a 
triumphant grin. “ Th’ escaped prisoners hev settled 
down t’ farmin’, hev they ? ” 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE ENEMY DISCOMFITED 

The cool efifrontery of Peters, and his complacent 
assumption that he had them in his power, was very 
irritating to Norman and Fred. It was evident that 
the big Allegash boss thought that the boys still believed 
him to be a game warden, and would offer him no more 
resistance, even though they were armed, than they did 
when he first pretended to arrest them. This delusion, 
however, was speedily dispelled. 

“ There are no escaped prisoners here,” said Warner, 
coldly. 

“ It will be as well for us to drop all theatricals and 
horse play right here and now,” supplemented Norman. 
‘‘ We don’t intend to be imposed upon any longer.” 

Gusty Peters’ face grew red with rage at this bold 
declaration. 

‘ Bow ! wow ! wow ! ’ said th’ little yeller dog,” he 
sneered, contemptuously. “What d’ye say, Jake?” 

“ Mighty long tail our cat’s got,” responded Jasper, 
derisively. 

“ I want you to understand one thing, Peters,” 
declared Norman, hotly. “ You’ll interfere with us 
here at your peril. The man who made this shotgun 
256 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 257 


put me on an equality with you. 1 don’t intend to 
submit to any further interference, and I give you 
fair warning.” 

“ Sho now ! ” responded Peters, with provoking cool- 
ness. What would ye do t’ me?” 

Do to you? ” repeated Norman, warmly. “ If you 
undertake to lay a hand upon me. I’ll fill you full of 
buckshot.” 

Ho ! ho ! ho ! ” roared Peters, disdainfully. So 
ye’d rally shoot me, would ye? Cool off thar, sonny! 
Cool off I Don’t let yer temper gallop away with yer 
brains, if ye’ve got any.” 

“ You make as light of this as you want to,” returned 
Norman, firmly. ‘‘ You may express your scorn in 
whatever cheap wit you choose to; but you can’t scare 
us. If you attempt to interfere with us some one will 
get badly hurt.” 

Black Jake Jasper leaned forward and spoke a few 
words to Peters, but the burly giant waved him away 
with an impatient gesture. 

Git out with ye I ” he bellowed, wrathfully. “ Do 
ye s’pose I was brought up in th’ woods to be skeered 
by an owl? Do ye think fer a jiffy thet I’m a man t’ 
be run through the chutes by a couple o’ kids ? G’lang 
with ye? I reckon I can take keer o’ myself in spite 
of these ’ere great dangers.” 

He paused and broke into a low, harsh laugh, full 
of contemptuous resentment. 

So, ye’d go so fur es t’ shoot me, would ye, bub? ” 


258 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


he said, with a glance at Norman that was intended to 
be full of withering scorn. 

I intend to use every means in my power to prevent 
you from interfering with me again,'* asserted Norman, 
resolutely. We are not hunting for trouble; but you 
seem to be, and what's more you're in a fair way of 
finding it." 

‘‘ Git out ! " snorted Peters, incredulously. What 
ye talkin' erbout? Thar wouldn't ary one o' you boys 
shoot nobody." 

‘‘Not if they let us alone; but we don't intend to 
be molested by you or any one else," said Norman. 

“ That's so," added Warner. 

“ Fiddlesticks ! " grunted Peters, scoffingly. “ You 
boys ain't fools enough t' shoot at a man who never 
did ye any harm, an' who doesn't intend to. Now 
I've no idee o' bein' hard on ye; but I'm too old a 
man, an' hev ben through too many hard scrapes in 
my life, to be afeared of a couple o' boys or to be 
bluffed by 'em. Understan' thet! Stiddy th' end of 
this bridge, Jake," he added, as he stepped upon the 
log which had been felled across the channel. 

“Hold on there!" exclaimed Norman, with deter- 
mination. “ You stay on your own side. Don't you 
attempt to come over here." 

“ Do ye own thet 'ere island ? " inquired Peters. 

“No," responded Norman, “and neither do you; 
but we have possession, and that’s nine points of the 
law." 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 259 


“ Law ! Snakes ! roared Peters, red with anger. 
“ There's no law es gives a couple o' calves th' right 
t' say where I shall go or where I sha'n't in these 'ere 
woods. Stiddy thar, Jake. If I'm goin' t’ be shot for 
goin' where I please, it might jest es well be now cs 
later." 

He made a quick dash to cross the log, but had gone 
only a few steps when Warner, who had put aside his 
rifle, drove the sharp point of the pickpole which he 
was holding into the end of the log nearest the island. 

‘‘ Hoi' on thar ! " roared Peters, in alarm. “ Git 
out ! Don't ye dare tetch this log. I'll — I'll skin ye 
if ye do." 

But the frantic threats of the burly Allegash leader 
were in vain. With a sharp push Warner swung the 
end of the log away from the island shore and length- 
wise of the channel, in spite of Jasper's frantic efforts 
to hold it at the opposite end. Peters balanced himself 
uncertainly for a moment on its top, and then, with a 
startled yell of dismay, fell, with a prodigious splash, 
into the water and muck of the channel. 

So astounded was Black Jake at the unexpected turn 
of events that he stood knee deep in the mud, where 
he had waded in his attempt to hold his end of the log 
with his hands, and stared after his disappearing chief 
in open-mouthed amazement. 

As he fell Peters instinctively grasped the log with 
both arms, but it rolled, under the one-sided distribution 
of his weight. With a gasp of horror Jasper turned 


260 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


and raced up the bank. Seizing the axe, he cut down, 
with a single swing, a tall, slender spruce that grew 
near the shore. He turned with it in his hands towards 
the dead-water where Peters, having got his head above 
the surface again, was sputtering furiously in his frantic 
efforts to clear his mouth and eyes of the roily water. 
His long hair was plastered closely about his ears, and 
a stream of black muck, running down the sides of his 
head, spattered upon his broad shoulders. 

‘‘ Blor-h ! — er — er — h-hurry ! ” he coughed, as he 
wildly pounded the water with his big hands. — 
I — can’t move. I’m — I’m — ketched in th’ mud ! ” 

“ Here, git a-holt o’ this! ” returned Jasper, shoving 
him the bushy end of the long spruce sapling. “ Look 
out or ye’ll break it 1 ” he added, warningly, as Peters 
grasped the proffered support with both hands, in a 
despairing grip. 

Pull, quick I ” he gasped. 

‘‘Easy! Easy thar!” admonished Jasper. “This 
’ere pole will hold ’most es much es a chain if we bring 
all th’ pressure endwise ; but she’ll snap like a pipe-stem 
if ye go t’ bearin’ down.” 

“ Pull, blast ye ! ” roared Peters. “ I know all erbout 
thet.” 

Black Jake carefully exerted his great strength and 
drew Peters from the muck. He pulled him slowly but 
surely to the shore, upon which he crawled a moment 
later, a most bedraggled and sorry-looking object. He 
was covered from head to foot with the slimy black mud 





Pet?:ks felt, with a prodigious splash. — Page 259 





WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 261 


of the dead-water. His huge coarse features resembled 
those of a negro, and it was evident that his harrowing 
experience had not improved his temper. As soon as 
he could command his voice he broke forth into a per- 
fect torrent of wild oaths and savage denunciation. 

‘‘ If it’s gun play ye want, ye young rascallions. I’ll 
see thet ye git it in mighty quick time,” he roared. 
“ Put thet log back t’ once ! ” he added, furiously, noting 
for the first time that the boys had taken advantage of 
his ducking to pull the log to the shore of the island, 
along which its length now extended well beyond reach 
from the opposite shore. 

Neither Norman nor Fred made any response to this 
imperious command. 

“ Did ye hear me ? ” roared Peters, in thunderous 
tones. 

“ You had better save your breath to cool your por- 
ridge. We both have ears,” returned Norman, coolly. 

“ Wal, ye won’t hev much longer, if ye don’t do es 
I tell ye,” stormed Peters. “ I say put back thet log 
an’ be mighty quick erbout it.” 

He paused a moment as if expecting to see Norman 
and Fred immediately comply with his request, but 
neither of them made any move to do so. 

Do ye mean to tell me ye won’t do it ? ” he 
demanded, in a tone of incredulity. 

You’ve guessed right,” responded Fred. 

“ You’d better go back to your camp and change your 
clothes,” advised Norman. 


262 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


And take a bath/' added Warner. 

The burly Allegash boss danced up and down in a 
perfect tumult of passion. 

“ Til make the both on ye rue this minute or Tm a 
liar/' he howled. ‘‘ Perhaps ye think it's very smart 
for two youngsters like you t' be a-floutin' o' Gusty 
Peters," he fumed. “ Ye've got too big for yer trousers 
— both on ye. Any one could dead easy become a 
millionaire by buyin' you boys for what yer wuth, an' 
sellin' of ye for what ye think yer wuth," he added, 
with what he evidently regarded as a scorching burst 
of sarcasm. 

This violent explosion provoked no reply from Nor- 
man and Fred, and again Peters gave way to a bois- 
terous paroxysm of rage and chagrin. 

“ Til gin ye two boys a little th' worst larrupin' ye 
ever got in yer lives, when I lay hands on ye agin," 
he blustered, fiercely. 

Look here, Peters," said Norman, sharply. It 
won't do the slightest good for you to waste any threats 
on us. You can rave, and fume, and sweat and swear 
as much as you want to, but it won't change the situ- 
ation. We are not afraid of you. We do not intend 
to submit to you as long as our cartridges hold out, and 
we have a fairly good supply. You are a criminal with 
a long term in the State prison staring you in the face." 

“ Yes," interposed Warner, ‘‘ and I reckon you'll get 
it quite a spell before we get that licking." 

Peters glared at them a moment in speechless rage. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 263 


“ This beats all ! ” he gasped, when he finally found 
his voice. I came t’ ye peaceable. I didn’t want no 
trouble; but I see ye insist on hevin’ it, an’, by Jings, 
ye can. If it’s gun play ye’re after, ye can hev all ye 
want of it in mighty short order. Jake,” he added, 
“ ye stay here an’ watch matters a spell while I go 
back t’ the camp and clean up a bit. If these ’ere boys 
want a shootin’ match, I reckon we’ll be able t’ gin ’em 
one a little later.” 

He scrambled up the bank, and disappeared from 
sight in the deep woods, leaving Black Jake on guard. 

“ I’m a tellin’ you boys es how ye’ve made a mighty 
bad mistake in gittin’ wrong with Gusty,” growled 
Jasper, resentfully, when his chief was gone. He’s 
a fighter from way back, an’ ye’d ben a good deal better 
off if ye minded what he said t’ ye. It won’t go easy 
with ye when he gits his hands on ye.” 

And it won’t be easy for him to get hold of us,” 
declared Norman, vigorously. “ Fred,” he added, turn- 
ing to Warner, hadn’t you better go over to the other 
side of the island and cut across to the mainland in the 
canoe, while I’m entertaining our genial friend here ? ” 

‘‘ A good idea,” returned Warner, promptly. 

“ I’d steer clear of the stream,” added Norman. 
“ Peters has his two Frenchman watching that. You 
can cut through the woods. Ten to one if you don’t 
run on to some of the boys hunting for us, before you 
get to the dam.” 

Sure enough,” responded Fred, but what shall I 


264 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


do if Jake here swings around on the main shore, and 
heads me off? ” 

“ It will bother him some to do it;’^ returned Nor- 
man, cheerfully, “ but if he does, Fll slip across here 
on the log while he's away after you, and go myself.” 

Black Jake was evidently perplexed and dumfounded 
at the boldness of this plan of campaign, which he 
perceived to be an entirely practical one. Any one on 
the main shore would be at a disadvantage in watching 
a single person, inasmuch as the circumference around 
the outer circle of the “ punch bowl ” was vastly greater 
than the circumference of the island, and involved more- 
over the crossing of a considerable stretch of dead- 
water. It was evident that it would be impossible for 
him to watch both boys successfully, and it began to 
dawn upon him that he might experience considerable 
difficulty in keeping sight of even one of them. 

The sweat trickled down his forehead, and his 
swarthy countenance plainly showed the consternation 
he felt. 

‘‘ Don't go for t' do thet ! ” he shouted, in alarm. 

They ain't no call for ye t' do it.” 

'' I think there is,” returned Norman, with conviction. 
“ Good-by, Fred. Tell the boys to bring their rifles 
and plenty of binding rope.” 

‘‘ I’ll see to that. Good-by,” responded Warner, as 
he started briskly through the garden towards the 
opposite side of the island. 

Black Jake was clearly nonplussed. He picked up 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 265 


the axe and started to climb to the top of the bank 
where it would be possible to make faster progress. 
Halfway up the steep slope he paused in dismay. 
Norman had dropped his gun and taken up the pick- 
pole. It would be very easy for him to swing the log 
across the dead-water and make his escape. Jasper 
was obviously in a panic of excitement and inde- 
cision. Presently he came slowly back and seated 
himself upon a big rock a little way up from the shore, 
in very evident perturbation of spirit. His dark eyes 
were contracted in a scowl of perplexity, and he was 
muttering what appeared to be the fiercest kind of 
maledictions upon the departed Peters. 

“ Not much of a general, is he? ” asked Norman. 

Hesn’t th' brains of a louse,’' asserted Black Jake, ^ 
with an oath. 

“ You’ve got a chance to clear out now,” said Nor- 
man, “ but if you stay with Gusty Peters, it will not 
take much of a prophet to tell your finish. You’ll go 
to the State prison at Thomaston, and work out your 
board in the blacksmith shop.” 

Norman was surprised at the effect of this statement 
upon the fierce temper of Black Jake, already irritated 
almost to the exploding point by the uncomfortable 
dilemma in which Peters had left him. With a muffled 
cry of rage he leaped to his feet as if he had received 
an electric shock, and seizing the handle of the axe 
which lay near him, with both hands, he hurled it 
across the dead-water at Norman with all his strength. 


266 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Fortunately it flew far wide of its mark. Jasper was 
about to follow it up with some stones, but the fact that 
Norman had picked up his shotgun, and was covering 
him with it caused him to drop them and sullenly resume 
his seat. 

“ ril give you Peterses advice,’^ said Norman, heat- 
edly. “ Cool off. If you don’t do it something will 
drop here right off.” 

Jasper made no response. He pulled his black corn- 
cob pipe from his pocket, filled it with trembling hand, 
lighted it carefully, and smoked in moody silence, his 
quick, voluminous puffs giving evidence of his excited 
frame of mind. 

‘‘ There’s no need of your getting mad, and making 
a fool of yourself,” pursued Norman. 

“ Shet up! ” responded Black Jake, in a surly tone. 
“ I won’t make any talk with ye.” 

“ All right,” responded Norman, cheerfully. Per- 
haps you’d better sit right there, and smoke until 
Warner gets back with the boys from Chamberlain 
dam.” 

They can’t get here for two or three hours at the 
soonest,” declared Jake. “ Gusty will be here agin long 
afore thet.” 

‘‘ Perhaps he will,” responded Norman, carelessly, 
although his heart beat fast as he saw a familiar form 
swing silently over the top of the steep bank, and work 
cautiously down towards the shore, dodging from tree 
to tree. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 267 


A moment later the newcomer leaped upon Jasper, 
and pulled him upon his back. Although taken by 
surprise, Black Jake put up a terrific struggle, and the 
two powerful men rolled to the very edge of the water. 
Here the struggle was soon ended. A second man 
came tumbling down the bank to assist the first one, 
and, in a very short time, the lieutenant of Gusty Peters, 
thoroughly subdued and bound, lay gasping upon the 
shore. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A NIGHT ENCOUNTER 

When Norman and Fred failed to return to Cham- 
berlain dam the first night after they had left it on 
their scouting expedition, the men of the crew, aside 
from Eustace, who was plainly uneasy about it, did 
not attach much importance to the fact. They very 
generally expressed the opinion that the boys had 
covered rather more territory than they had planned 
on, and, having thrown up a lean-to somewhere, were 
camping for the night, rather than to travel the big 
woods after dark. 

‘‘ Wouldn’t worry about ’em a minute, Mr. Eustace,” 
said Boggs, reassuringly. “Ye see they ain’t ary one 
on ’em ever cruised thii> section afore, an’ it isn’t sur- 
prisin’ thet they should want daylight for it. They’ll 
come a-driftin’ in here to-morrow mornin’, sure’s yer 
born.” 

“ I hope you’re right, Tom,” returned Eustace, “ but 
I can’t help worrying a little. What do you think, 
Sol ? ” he added, turning to the Indian, who was smok- 
ing his pipe on the deacon seat in stolid silence. 

“ Smart boys. Take care umselves,” grunted Sol, 
with decision. 


268 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 269 


Sure, an’ it’s not mesilf thot will be lookin’ for 
thim before to-morrow noight,” added Barney O’Con- 
nor. “ It’s not thim thot wud waste good dayloight to 
come back to the camp before supper toime.” 

‘‘ Right ye air, Barney,” agreed Boggs. Th’ boys 
started out t’ do a clean job o’ prospectin’ an’ I reckon 
they won’t show up here agin till they’ve swung clean 
round the circle.” 

This view of the situation prevailed among the men 
of the camp, who soon after retired for the night, feel- 
ing that there was nothing to worry about so far as 
Norman and Fred were concerned. 

In the morning the work on the dam, now well under 
way, was resumed again. The damage wrought by the 
would-be dynamiters had proved to be far less serious 
than it was at first supposed to be, and Eustace declared 
that, when he was through with it, the structure would 
be considerably stronger than it ever was before. 

As the afternoon wore away and the boys failed to 
put in an appearance, it was evident that the men of 
the crew were growing more and more uneasy about 
them, although they had endeavored to keep their fears 
from Eustace, who was plainly nervous and appre- 
hensive. 

“What do you think, Sol?” he asked, when four 
o’clock came with no sign of the missing boys. 

“ Time for look,” responded the Indian. “ Mebbe 
boy he lost.” 

“Just what I’m afraid of,” admitted Eustace. 


270 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Me go ? ” questioned Sol. 

‘‘ Yes, I reckon you’d better,” declared Eustace. 

There isn’t much daylight left, and we might as 
well make the most of it.” 

The tall Indian dropped his axe with alacrity, and 
a moment later was lost to sight down the tote-road 
over which the boys had taken their departure from 
the camp the previous morning. 

Had any av th’ rist av us betther go?” asked 
Barney O’Connor, when Sol had disappeared. 

It was evident that the light-hearted Irishman was 
not a little disturbed by the continued absence of Nor- 
man and Fred. 

‘‘ No,” responded Eustace, slowly. ‘‘ Sol will cover 
more ground alone than he could if any one were with 
him, and there won’t be time enough for the rest of 
us to do much before dark. I think we’ll have our 
work here in such shape before supper, that three or 
four of us can take a hand in the hunt to-morrow 
morning, if it becomes necessary.” 

I reckon Sol will round ’em up all right,” declared 
Boggs, confidently. 

“If he can’t, it’s pretty certain that none of the rest 
of us can,” replied Eustace. 

“ Reg’lar cyclone for gittin’ through th’ woods,” 
agreed Boggs. 

The members of the crew had finished their supper, 
and were smoking their pipes in the twilight, when 
Sol made his reappearance, coming so silently out of 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 271 


the woods that none of the men saw him until he was 
fairly in their midst. 

‘‘ What luck ? ’’ “ Did ye git trace on 'em ? ” ‘‘ Bedad, 
is it lost they are ? " were some of the questions that 
came in impatient chorus from the men of the crew. 

The Indian was silent. 

“ I reckon you'd have a better chance to learn some- 
thing if you came at him one at a time," said Eustace, 
dryly. 

‘‘ What did you find, Sol ? " he added, with very 
evident anxiety. 

“ This," said the Indian, exhibiting a lynx skin which 
he carried in his hand. 

‘‘ A lucivee pelt, isn't it ? " asked Eustace, peering at 
it in the semi-darkness. 

‘‘Yes," responded Sol. “Boy shoot-um; hide-um 
in stump; catch trout; cook-um." 

“ So you found where they had their dinner, did 
you ? " questioned Eustace, in quick comprehension of 
the Indian's story. 

“ Yes," replied Sol. “ Buildum fire side brook. Two 
others come; big fellows. All go away together." 

“ The Allegash fellows have got them ! " exclaimed 
Eustace, with conviction. “ How do you know they 
were large fellows who joined them at the brook- 
side ? " he demanded, turning to Sol. 

“ Big foot," responded the Indian, briefly. 

“You saw their tracks, did you?" 

“ Ya-as. Plenty track on bank." 


272 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ The whole thing’s just as clear as the nose on your 
face,” declared Eustace to Tom Boggs. The boys 
were eating their dinners, when along came two of the 
Allegash gang who have been watching the dam, and 
gathered them in.” 

“ It might be a good deal wuss,” returned Boggs, 
consolingly. ‘‘ It’s nowise likely they’ll harm ary one 
on ’em.” 

“ No,” admitted Eustace. “ I’ve no idea they’d 
dare carry things as far as that. Still I sha’n’t feel 
easy till we get the boys back, and we shall not fail 
to give this whole country a most thorough search 
to-morrow.” 

“ Bedad, if ye found the trail why didn’t ye kape on 
wid it ? ” demanded Barney O’Connor of Sol, breaking 
in upon the conversation. 

“ Too much dark,” explained the Indian, briefly. 

“ I reckon it’s a good deal easier t’ talk about fol- 
lowing up a blind trail et this time o’ day then t’ do 
it,” declared Boggs. 

“ It certainly is,” agreed Eustace ; ‘‘ but we sha’n’t 
lose any time in getting after it, and following it up 
as well as we can, the very first thing in the morning.” 

“ And where did ye say ye found the skin ? ” 
demanded O’Connor. 

“ Boy hidum in old stump,” explained Sol. 

“ They was probably callatin’ t’ pick it up agin on 
their way back,” explained Boggs. “ Reckon we’ll have 
it all cured for ’em by th’ time they git home.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 273 


“ Sure thing ! ” declared several of the men in chorus. 

Eustace would have excused Sol Soc from doing 
guard duty that night, in view of his jaunt through 
the woods; but the Indian would not hear of it. He 
declared that his trip was ‘‘ not’ing 't all,” and insisted 
on taking his turn at the watch. A little later he was 
guarding one end of the dam, while Tom Boggs was 
guarding the other. Both were armed with Winchester 
rifles, and in a mood to give any marauders of the 
Allegash, who might come their way, the warmest kind 
of a reception. 

It was a dark night and no sound broke the silence 
of the enveloping forest, save the occasional hoot of 
an owl, and the groaning of the tree-tops, swaying 
before the brisk breeze that blew from the cool surface 
of the lake. 

Suddenly the men of the crew were awakened from 
their deep sleep, by a sharp challenge. 

“ Halt ! Who comeum dere ? ” 

Git aout ! What ye tryin’ t’ do ? ” chimed in 
another voice. 

There was a moment’s silence. Then came the sharp 
report of a rifle, followed by a shriek of pain. 

The men of the crew, wide awake now, came hurry- 
ing to the dam, armed with axes, peavies, and the few 
guns they had been able to lay hands on in the darkness. 

As they did so a flash of light came from the further 
end of the dam, and a second rifle report broke the 
silence of the night. 


274 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


The effect was magical. Smothered oaths and 
startled exclamations came from the woods beyond 
the dam, followed by a crashing in the underbrush, 
which indicated that the intruders, whoever they might 
be, were taking their departure with all possible haste. 

‘‘ Me hit one,” declared Sol Soc, with conviction. 
“ Me hearum yell.” 

‘‘ I reckon I didn’t come fur from one on ’em myself,” 
declared Tom Boggs. 

“ Hold on, boys ! ” shouted Eustace, to some of the 
men who were hurrying around the end of the dam. 
“ It’s too dark to chase ’em up. Let ’em go.” 

Somewhat reluctantly the men returned and gathered 
in an excited group about Eustace and Sol Soc. Here 
they were joined a few moments later by Boggs. 

“ What did you hear, Sol ? ” demanded Eustace. 

“ Me hearum coming through woods. Me yell. He 
no answer. Me shoot,” explained the Indian. 

I reckon es how he hit one on ’em,” declared Boggs. 
“ I heard ’im squeal like a stuck pig.” 

There’s no doubt those fellows meant mischief,” 
declared Eustace. “ They were desperate, and were 
determined to make one more effort to complete their 
work before they gave up. I think they realize now 
the folly and uselessness of any further attempt to 
destroy this dam.” 

“ Shure we’ve got th’ spalpeens on th’ run,” asserted 
Barney O’Connor, jubilantly. “ It’s not thim thot’ll 
be afther throubling us ony more.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 275 


“ I think you’re right, Barney,” assented Eustace. 

Still it won’t be wise to take any chances. We’ll keep 
up our watch until we feel sure of it. What’s that ? ” 
he added, as a smothered groan came from the woods 
below the dam. 

The members of the party stopped talking, and lis- 
tened intently. Again an unmistakable groan came 
from below the dam. 

“ I reckon thet must be th’ feller Sol hit,” declared 
Boggs. He was about to add some further observation ; 
but the rush of the crew around the dam left him with- 
out an audience. 

Preseirtly the men returned bearing an apparently 
badly wounded man whose hollow groans indicated that 
he was suffering great physical pain. 

“ Oh, I ban killed. I ban dead man for sure. I ban 
wan beeg, beeg fool,” he moaned. “ Oh, mon Dieu, 
how I was ban punish ! ” 

His helpless condition appealed to the rough chivalry 
of the men, who bore him with all tenderness to the 
camp, and laid him upon a blanket in one of the bunks. 

‘‘ Do any of you know him ? ” asked Eustace, as 
several lanterns were held up to show the face of the 
sufferer. 

No,” “ No,” ‘‘ Never saw him afore,” came the 
chorus of response. It was very evident that the man 
was a stranger to the members of the crew. 

“ What’s your name ? ” demanded Eustace. 

Louis Barbotte. Oh, mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! I ban 


276 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 

faint, I ban die ! '' gasped the sufferer, in an agony of 
apprehension. 

“ Whose crew are you in ? continued Eustace. 

“ Gus — er, w^at I say — I don’ tell.” The wounded 
man ceased speaking, and lay groaning feebly. 

“ You needn’t say any more,” declared Eustace, 
firmly. You are one of Gusty Peters’s men. You 
came here to help blow up the dam. You deserve all 
you got.” 

‘‘ I ban dead man for sure,” moaned the prisoner, 
weakly. 

“ You certainly have an extra good pair of lungs, 
for a corpse,” said Eustace, grimly. 

Shootum in leg,” said Sol Soc, who had been exam- 
ining the wounded man. 

Rip up his trousers leg, and let’s have a look at it,” 
said Eustace. 

‘‘ Through the fleshy part of the leg — painful, but 
not serious,” he added a moment later, after a critical 
examination of the wound. 

‘‘Ye fired at a man, Sol, an’ hit a calf,” announced 
Tom Boggs, solemnly. 

“ Bedad, ye put a bullet clane through it,” added 
Barney O’Connor. “ Shure ’tis a moighty foine shot 
ye are.” 

“ You t’ink I ban die? ” asked the sufferer, anxiously. 

“ Certainly not,” declared Eustace. “ Your wound 
will be sore for a while, but it isn’t dangerous. You’ll 
be as good as new in two or three weeks. Got any hot 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 277 


water ? ” he asked, turning to the cook, who was stand- 
ing near. 

There was some left in the big kettle. I reckon it 
hasn’t got cold yet.” 

“ Bring me a basin full,” ordered Eustace. “ Look 
in my bag, Barney, and get that roll of iodoform 
gauze.” 

The men hastened to carry out these instructions. 

“ Isn’t half as bad as it looked,” announced Eustace 
when he had washed away the blood. With consider- 
able skill he bandaged the wound, and stood for a 
moment inspecting the results of his work. 

“ There,” he announced, “ that’s about the best I 
can do for you. I sha’n’t expect to see you do any 
sprinting for quite a spell yet; but in the meantime 
you’ll have a chance to associate with white men, and 
that will be considerable of a privilege for one of 
Gusty Peters’s gang.” 

“ I don’ work for heem som’ more,” declared the 
patient, with emphasis. 

“ That’s a good resolution. I hope you’ll keep it,” 
said Eustace. 

“ Begorra, it’s not any wan thot will be a-workin’ 
for him much longer, Oi’m afther thinkin’,” declared 
Barney O’Connor. “ It’s himsilf as will soon be 
workin’ for th’ State, bad cess to ’im.” 

“ I reckon he’ll be pantin’ for more room, afore 
long,” added Tom Boggs. 

There was little sleep for the men of the crew during 


278 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the remainder of the night. Breakfast was served at 
the usual early hour, and daybreak found most of them, 
in charge of Tom Boggs, busily at work again on the 
task of repairing the dam. Eustace, accompanied by 
Sol Soc and Barney O’Connor, made an early start for 
the brook, where Sol had found his traces of the boys 
the previous afternoon. Once there, the members of 
the party were almost disposed to question the correct- 
ness of the Indian’s deductions, for the camp-fire was 
about the only thing they could find to indicate that 
any one had visited the little glen before them, and 
camp-fires were by no means uncommon in that section. 
It was only after Sol had patiently pointed out certain 
tracks that had escaped their observation that they 
acknowledged his superior wood-craft and followed 
after him, with a growing sense of their helplessness 
in the task before them. It was very evident that their 
own wood-craft would bear small comparison to that 
of the Indian. 

Sol led the way out of the glen and along the tote- 
road with a promptness and an assurance that was 
decidedly dazing to his companions, who could see 
practically nothing to justify his confidence. 

“ Here’s a prize of war,” declared Eustace, pausing 
to pick up an old felt hat, somewhat the worse for 
wear, which lay by the roadside. I reckon that fellow 
was going some when he lost that,” he said, with a 
laugh, as he exhibited his trophy to his companions. 

“ Bedad, there was a hoigh wind around his ears 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 279 


’bout thot toime,” commented Barney. “ ’Twas a tall 
gait he was afther strikin’.” 

‘‘ Him run, lak one beeg moose,” declared Sol. 

“ Looks like a close shave for him,” declared Eustace, 
pointing to a bullet hole in the crown. 

“ It was thot close, it must have singed the hair av 
him,” said Barney. 

“ Him Boggs’s bullet,” declared Sol, confidently. 

‘‘ No wonder he ran,” chuckled Eustace, as he rolled 
up the hat, and stuffed it into his hip pocket. ‘‘ He 
was probably convinced that the next shot would come 
lower.” 

Leave-um trail here,” announced Sol, pausing by 
a windfall that lay beside the road. 

“ Why, that leads down into the Cedar Swamp,” 
declared Eustace, incredulously, as the Indian pointed 
the way to the swamp. 

Good ridge back side,” asserted Sol. 

“ Think they made a short cut, do you ? ” asked 
Eustace. 

“ Dat so,” declared the Indian. 

Perhaps they wanted for to throw us off the scent,” 
declared Barney. 

“ Perhaps both,” agreed Sol. ‘‘ His-t ! ” he added, 
with his fingers on his lips. “ Some one come.” 

Through the heavy growths that lay beyond the tote- 
road came the unmistakable sound of some one making 
his laborious way over the windfalls, and through the 
underbrush. . 


28 o with pickpole and peavey 


“ It may be our luck to run onto Peters an' his spal- 
peens roight here,” whispered Barney, with enthusiasm. 

‘‘ One man,” asserted Sol, briefly. 

“ Let us hope it’s old Gusty himself,” said Eustace. 

‘‘ Bedad, if it is, he’ll be for thinkin’ he’s landed him- 
silf in a hornet’s nest,” added Barney. 

Eustace laughed softly. “ I believe you’d rather get 
into a scrap any time, Barney, than to eat a good 
dinner,” he said, with conviction. 

“Arrah! the joy av it,” responded Barney, with 
enthusiasm. 

The steps came nearer. Two bushy young fir-trees 
were pushed aside, 'and a weazened old face, framed 
in white hair and a snow-white beard, gazed out upon 
them with an anxious air of inquiry and uncertainty. 

For a moment they stood gazing at him in open- 
mouthed amazement. 

Eustace was the first to recover his voice. 

It’s Father Time! ” he gasped. 



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CHAPTER XXIII 


GUSTY PETERS IN THE TOILS i 

For a moment the hermit stood looking intently at 
Eustace and his companions, and then, evidently assured 
that they were well disposed towards him, came slowly 
forward to meet them. 

‘‘ And how is Father Time to-day? ” asked Eustace, 
extending a friendly hand, which the hermit shook in 
silent and solemn dignity. 

“Nature is kind to me — thank you,’^ was the 
response. 

“ Begorra, it’s moighty glad we are to see ye, me 
ancient and honorable frind,” said Barney O’Connor, 
with a cordial shake of the newcomer’s hand, “ but 
ain’t ye a long ways from home ? ” 

“ It’s not far to the still beaver waters,” returned the 
hermit, briefly. 

Even Sol, usually careless in matters of social amen- 
ity, extended his hand in hearty greeting to the hermit. 

“ Seeum boys ? ” he asked, with a searching glance 
at Umber’s sphinx-like features. 

“ They rest secure,” returned the hermit, with a wave 
of his long arm, indicating the section of country that 
lay behind him. 


281 


282 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“What? Really! You don’t say! ” exclaimed Eus- 
tace, excitedly. “So you know where they are?” 

The hermit nodded. 

“ Bedad, an’ where is it? ” demanded Barney, eagerly. 

“ At the heart, in the still beaver waters,” returned 
the hermit, gravely. 

Eustace looked puzzled. 

“ How came they there? ” he asked, in very evident 
perplexity. 

“ Bad men led them through the shadow path, and 
held them in their abode, above the leaping waters. 
They escaped from them, and fled into the desert, 
whither the wicked spirit pursued them. I succored 
them. I took them over the flood, and concealed them 
in the heart by the still beaver waters. Such as I had 
gave I unto them. But alas! I knew that the hosts of 
the wicked were searching for us, and we have not 
the might to cope with them. I came to summon you 
to the fray.” 

“ Bedad, thot story is a bur-rd. It’s ivery bit as 
clear as a London fog,” declared Barney O’Connor, 
scratching his head in evident bewilderment. “ I gith- 
ered, however, a faint suggistion of a scrap which I 
hope was no drame.” 

“ It was a trifle hazy,” admitted Eustace. “ Still, 
I gather that he knows where the boys are, and that 
they are safe.” 

“ He tellum all,” interposed Sol Soc, impatiently. 
“ He say bad man takum boy ; shutum in camp. Boy 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 283 


get away. Windigo findum. Takeum home. Hide-um. 
Dey dere now.’’ 

“ You’re right, Sol,” declared Eustace, heartily. 

Barney and I are dull boys when it comes to the 
voice of Nature. I reckon we haven’t learned the 
language.” 

“ We go wit’ him,” said Sol. 

“ All right,” responded Eustace. Tell him to lead 
the way. We’ll follow him.” 

“ Goum still beaver water,” said the Indian. 

The hermit nodded, gravely, and, turning about, led 
the way through the tangled labyrinth of swamp growth 
and windfalls that had proved so trying to Norman and 
Fred on their enforced march to Gusty Peters’s camp. 

Oh wurra, an’ it’s the way to the pit entoirely,” 
puffed Barney O’Connor. ’Tis mony th’ toight place 
I’ve bin in; but shure this is the worrst iver.” 

“ Courage, old boy ! ” responded Eustace, with a 
laugh. “ Remember ‘ beyond the Alps lies Italy’.” 

‘‘ I’d rither go through the tunnel,” returned Barney. 

A little later the members of the party emerged from 
the black growth, and made their way up the side of 
the hardwood ridge. 

‘‘ Hurrah ! ” exclaimed Barney, as, reeking with per- 
spiration, he seated himself upon a windfall, to the very 
evident disgust of Sol Soc and the hermit. “ Italy at 
last ! Fetch me some macaroni ! ” 

'' We come fin’ boy,” said Sol, impatiently. 

All roight. Go on wid ye, the old stame-ingine 


284 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


thot ye are/^ responded Barney, with a sigh of resig- 
nation, rising to his feet. 

A little later the party passed over the brow of the 
ridge. They paused for a moment for a drink of the 
clear cold water that bubbled from the spring, and then 
resumed their tramp down the slope. 

Shure an’ it’s a moighty uncertain futting ye hov 
here,” commented Barney, as they made their way 
from tussock to tussock across the shaky surface of the 
meadow. 

‘‘ Holdum good,” said Sol, reassuringly. 

They crossed the log that bridged the sluggish waters 
of the stream, and scrambled up the steep bank that 
lay beyond. 

Here they paused for a moment, and examined with 
satisfaction the well-defined foot-path that wound its 
sombre way through the heavy black growth. 

“ This has been in recent use,” declared Eustace. 

‘‘ A blind man cud see thot,” responded Barney. 

Probably that’s why you and I were able to dis- 
cover it,” said Eustace, dryly. 

His-st ! ” exclaimed Sol, in a low, warning tone. 
‘‘ Some one come. Hideum ourselfs.” 

The members of the party hastened to conceal them- 
selves behind a large hemlock windfall that lay in the 
woods a short distance from the foot-path. 

‘‘ Gusty Peters,” whispered Sol, as the heavy features 
of the Allegash boss came into view up the sharp incline 
of the slope. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 285 


Hold him up. We want him/’ said Eustace, 
eagerly. 

Having reached the top of the embankment, Peters 
started with a nervous stride along the foot-path. His 
clothes were covered with thick, black muck, which also 
matted together his heavy head of hair. His /coarse 
features were convulsed with rage, and it was plainly 
evident that he was not in a pleasant frame of mind. 

“ Halt ! Putum up hands ! ” Sol Soc had stepped 
quickly into the path ahead of Peters and was covering 
the big Allegash boss with his Winchester. 

Peters obeyed the unexpected order with a gasp of 
surprise; but in a moment recovered himself and half 
turned as if to run; but at that moment Barney O’Con- 
nor and Eustace sprang upon him from the rear and 
bore him to the ground. Peters was a powerful man, 
and one who was not to be subdued without a struggle. 
With loud, angry curses he twisted and squirmed, and 
exerted his great strength to the utmost in an effort 
to throw off his assailants. But both of them were 
wiry, powerful men, and not to be dislodged. Pres- 
ently Eustace got a firm grip upon his throat, and the 
fight was quickly ended. The big Allegash boss lay 
gasping and subdued upon the ground, where Eustace 
soon had him securely bound with some strong rope 
he had brought along with him. 

“ Begorra, ’twas an illigant scrap he put up,” declared 
Barney O’Connor, as he surveyed the prisoner with 
very evident satisfaction. 


286 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


And a useless one,” declared Eustace, in a tone of 
disgust. ‘‘ You let your nasty temper run away with 
your judgment that time, Peters.” 

“ Cowards ! ” gasped Peters, scornfully. “ Jumped 
on me from behind. Took me foul. It wasn’t a fair 
fight.” 

‘‘ We were not looking for a fight,” responded Eus- 
tace, sharply. We were looking for you.” 

“ An’ bedad we appear for to hov ye,” interposed 
O’Connor. “ Possission, me big frind, is noine pints 
av the law.” 

“ It’s mighty little attention ye’ve paid t’ th’ law,” 
growled Peters, a-committin’ highway robbery on a 
man as was attendin’ strictly to his own business. An’ 
now I suppose ye want my wallet,” he added, in a tone 
of sneering sarcasm. 

“ You may keep it in your pocket for the present,” 
responded Eustace, coolly. “ I reckon you’ll need it 
before you get out of this scrape. You’ve got a few 
things to answer for before you go at liberty again.” 

Wal, what are they?” insisted Peters, defiantly. 

We expect to tell in good season,” replied Eus- 
tace, calmly. “ In the meantime you must be patient.” 

An’ if ye can’t be entoirely patient, why ye must 
be as patient as ye can,” added Barney O’Connor. 

“ Yes, yes,” growled Peters. ‘‘ It’s mighty easy for 
a coward like you to blow cheap wit on a fellow when 
he’s down. If I was untied I’d pin them long ears 
behind yer head an’ make a breakfast on ye.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 287 


“ An’ bedad it wud be the wor-rst wan for ye 
degistion ye ever tried to ate/’ returned Barney, hotly. 
“ Untie the murtherin’ ole spalpeen an’ lave me thry 
it out wid ’im,” he pleaded. 

Eustace met this request with an amused shake of 
the head. He was used to O’Connor’s fiery moods. 

Be patient, Barney,” he admonished, with a chuckle. 

The Irishman immediately subsided. 

“ ’Tis me own medicine ye are afther givin’ me,” he 
remarked, with a sheepish grin, “ an’ Oi’m not sayin’ 
thot I don’t desarve it.” 

“ And where now. Father Time? ” inquired Eustace, 
turning to the hermit. 

My canoe is under the bank,” responded Umber. 

The shore is better on this side of the stream.” 

Eustace glanced at him in surprise. The hermit’s 
tone was calm, and his answer direct and matter of 
fact. 

‘‘ I reckon the old bye has lucid intervals now an’ 
thin,” commented O’Connor, in a low tone. 

“ How many will your canoe hold comfortably ? ” 
questioned Eustace. 

Four.” 

“ Well, I guess I’ll let you go ahead with Sol and 
Barney. Then you can come back for Gusty and me. 
I think we’d better hide ourselves in the alders under 
the bank. There’s no predicting who might show up 
along this path.” 

With the assistance of Sol and Barney, Peters was 


288 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


carried to a place of concealment in the alders where 
he was left in charge of Eustace. O’Connor and the 
Indian then embarked in the canoe with the hermit, 
and made their way up the dead-water, Sol handling 
the bow paddle with the characteristic grace and skill 
of his race, while Umber in the stern showed himself 
a worthy mate for him. 

“ Bedad, this is one illegant place,” declared Barney, 
with enthusiasm, as they rounded the headland with 
its heavy forest growth. 

“ These are the still beaver waters,” said the hermit. 

Beaver makeum dam on stream below,” explained 
Sol. 

‘‘ An’ begorra, it’s quite a bit o’ wather it’s afther 
holdin’ back,” declared O’Connor, in surprise. 

A moment later the hermit turned his canoe up the 
narrow stream beyond the headland, and he and Sol 
worked their way carefully between its alder-fringed 
banks. An exclamation of wonder and delight broke 
from Barney as they finally emerged from the alder- 
grown stream upon the broad basin of the watery 
expanse which Norman had called the “ Punch Bowl.” 

The Devil’s Ink Pot,” announced Umber. 

“ An’ will-named it is,” declared Barney, as he gazed 
upon the black liquid muck that lay so near the surface. 

As they approached the island, which Umber con- 
ceived to be the heart of the Punch Bowl, they were 
startled by the sound of angry voices. 

“ Some one is faling roiled,” remarked O’Connor. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 289 


Umber made no reply; but, with strong strokes of 
his paddle, joined forces with Sol in driving the canoe 
through the water at an increased rate of speed. A 
moment later they came in full view of Jake Jasper in 
a warm exchange of words with Norman Carver and 
Fred Warner who were facing him on the opposite side 
of the channel that separated the island from the main- 
land. With a few strong strokes of their paddles Sol 
and the hermit drove the canoe onto the rear side of 
the island. They were greatly relieved to find that 
they had made the passage without being discovered 
by Jasper or the boys, who were too intense in their 
interchange of hot words, to take much heed of any- 
thing else. 

Begorra, we must capture thot man,’’ declared 
Barney, with rising enthusiasm, “ but how shall we 
get afther him? If we go in the canoe he’ll be afther 
seein’ us an’ clarin’ out.” 

“ Where the wind listeth he will run,” said the 
hermit, solemnly. 

Bedad, an’ Oi’m doubtin’ he’s thot swift,” objected 
Barney. 

“ We let Windigo land us on main shore,” said Sol. 

Go still through woods. Come in behind Jasper. 
Cut him off.” 

Begorra, thot’s the idea,” said Barney, delightedly. 

Wid you an’ me on one side, and the strame on the 
ither, he’d shure be betwane the divil and th’ dape sea.” 

“ Ugh ! ” grunted the Indian. Any further response, 


290 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


however, was promptly cut short by a rattling in the 
underbrush on the shore, close against which the canoe 
was resting. A moment later the bushes parted and 
a small fox terrier dog ran down the ledges. 

“ Good old Bozy. He very nice dog,” said the her- 
mit, whereupon the terrier frisked about in a perfect 
delirium of joy — but without a bark. 

“Your dog?” asked Sol. 

“ My best friend,” said the hermit, “ and almost my 
only one,” he added, with a sigh. 

At this moment there was a sound of footsteps in 
the bushes, through which Fred Warner suddenly made 
his appearance upon the shore. He stopped short in 
amazement as his eye rested upon the canoe. 

“ The tip o’ the mornin’ to ye, Fred,” said Barney, 
airily, in very evident enjoyment of his surprise. 

“ Howdy,” grunted Sol. 

“How are you, boys?” returned Warner, joyfully, 
finding his voice. “ I was almost afraid it might be 
a dream. The sight of you is good for the appetite.” 

“ If ye go back there wid Norman, and kape your 
eyes on Black Jake Jasper, I shouldn’t wondher if 
ye’d see something drop before long,” said Barney. 
“ Father Toime is goin’ to land Sol an’ me on the 
main shore below the island.” 

“ All right. I’ll be watching for you,” responded 
Fred. “ I begin to see Jake’s finish.” 

“ Stayum there ! ” said Sol. “ Windigo paddlum us 
to shore. Come back. Get you.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 291 


‘‘ Good idea, Sol,'’ responded Warner, with a laugh. 
‘‘ I see that you don’t want anything to break in on 
that red-hot discussion Norman is having with Black 
Jake, and I reckon you’re right.” 

“ We’ll be afther doin’ th’ breakin’ in oursilves,” 
interposed Barney. 

‘‘ The day of wrath is at hand,” declared Umber, in 
lugubrious tones. 

‘‘ It is thot,” assented Barney, ‘‘ but there’s no nade 
of tears. Shure it’s a day of cilebration.” 

Fred Warner stood upon the island ledges and 
watched Sol an Barney as they made their quick way 
in the canoe across the intervening waters to the shore 
of the Punch Bowl. Once there they clambered up the 
bank and disappeared in the thick woods. 

For a moment the hermit sat motionless in his canoe 
looking intently in the direction they had gone, although 
it was evident to Warner that the steep embankment, 
and the heavy forest growth that crowned it, must have 
speedily hidden them from view. 

There was something weird and patriarchal in the 
unstudied pose of the hermit, and Warner could not 
help a feeling of pity for the lonely old man. His own 
people were poor, but their farm was a fertile one, and 
while they had always felt the pinch of poverty, they 
had never known what it was to go hungry. Warner 
determined that Dave Umber should never again have 
that experience if he could help it. 

Presently the hermit awoke from his reverie with a 


292 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


start, and came, with long, sweeping dips of the paddle, 
to the place where Fred Warner stood waiting for him. 

“ I am a man of peace,’' he said, as he brought his 
canoe alongside the shore. ‘‘ But retribution pursueth 
the wicked, and will not be denied. Get in,” he added, 
addressing Fred. “ It will be all over by the time we 
reach the camp.” 

Fred took his place in the bow of the canoe, and 
together he and Umber drove the frail craft around the 
curving shores of the island. They reached the oppo- 
site shore just in season to see Black Jake Jasper in 
his furious but futile struggle with Sol Soc and Barney 
O’Connor. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE RETURN TO CHAMBERLAIN DAM 

“ Rist aisy, ye spalpeen ! ’’ 

Barney O’Connor could not restrain a grin of satis- 
faction, as he stood looking down upon the discomfited 
Jasper, who lay bound and helpless on the shore of 
the dead-water. 

You have your innin’s now. Fll make ye sing a 
different tune when I git mine,” growled the prisoner. 

Black Jake was certainly a repulsive-looking figure, 
as he uttered this threat. His long, black hair was 
dishevelled, his clothes torn in several places, while his 
coarse features, distorted with rage, were rendered more 
gruesome by a thin stream of blood that trickled down 
one of his cheeks from a scratch received in his frantic 
struggle with Sol and Barney. 

‘‘ Ye’ve already hod yer innin’s an’ it’s a moighty 
poor game ye’ve played,” retorted O’Connor, hotly. 

Ye’ve reached yer toime of explainin’, an’ a sorry lot 
av it ye’ll hov to do.” 

“No talkum,” grunted Sol. 

“ That means you, Barney,” laughed Norman. 

“ Oi’m dumb,” responded O’Connor, good-naturedly, 
“ but shure his insolence provoked me to blarney.” 

293 


294 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


At this point the conversation was interrupted by a 
hail from Fred, who, in company with the hermit, had 
rounded the lower end of the island. Both he and 
Umber were making their paddles bend beneath their 
vigorous sweeps, and were driving the canoe towards 
the hermit’s home landing at racing speed. 

‘‘ Hello, there ! ” shouted Warner. 

“ How do,” returned Sol. 

Have you any freight for us? ” 

“ Be the powers, we hov thot,” rejoined Barney. 
“ About th’ swatest load, Oi’m afther thinkin’, thot ye 
iver carried.” 

In a few moments the canoe was alongside the land- 
ing, and Fred was viewing the prostrate Jasper with 
outspoken satisfaction. 

“ Good job I ” he said, delightedly. 

“ Shure ’twas a short horse, soon curried,” declared 
Barney, with very evident elation. An’ how does it 
impriss ye. Father Toime?” he added, addressing the 
hermit. 

‘ There is no peace,’ saith the Lord, ‘ unto the 
wicked,’ ” responded Umber, soberly. 

Roight ye are,” conceded Barney. Sure an’ it 
pays any mon to lade a dacint loife. ’Tis many toimes 
the divil has timpted me ; but shure it’s always throuble 
Oi’ve found all the days o’ my loife a-chasin’ afther 
im. 

“ What are we going to do with Jake?” interposed 
Norman. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 295 


Windigo an’ me takum out/’ replied Sol. “ Win- 
digo come back. Get you.” 

“ That’s a good idea,” agreed Norman. 

The canoe was swung up to the landing to enable 
Warner to go ashore, after which the hermit pushed 
it across the dead-water to the place where Sol and 
Barney were waiting with the prisoner. Jasper was 
unceremoniously laid upon the bottom of the frail craft 
very much as if he had been a bale of hay, and, with 
Sol in the bow, and Umber in the stern, the canoe took 
its departure. In a few minutes it had passed from 
sight. 

“ An’ shure it’s a long ways to dinner,” exclaimed 
Barney, looking, disconsolately, across the dead-water. 

“ A very short cut when you know how to get here,” 
responded Norman, with a laugh. 

‘‘ Bedad, it’s too shallow to swim, an’ too dape to 
wade,” declared Barney, whimsically. “ Mebbe though, 
ye already hov yer mon Froiday,” he added, with a 
wave of his hand towards Warner. 

“ This is a little republic over here,” declared Nor- 
man. ‘‘ Every man is on the same level.” 

‘‘ Begorra, an’ it’s moighty attractive ye sound,” 
declared Barney. “Ho! ho! ’Tis a portable bridge 
ye hov,” he added, as Norman pushed the log from the 
island shore with the pickpole, and began swinging it 
across the dead-water. 

“ A gift from Black Jake and Gusty Peters,” 
explained Warner. 


296 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


And I hope you’ll have better luck walking it than 
Gusty Peters did,” added Norman. 

A gleam of comprehension shone in O’Connor’s eyes. 

“ Bedad, an’ I rickin as how some wan jiggled the 
toight rope,” he said. “ ’Twas me grate an’ onexpicted 
pleasure to mate Mister Paters in the woods beyint! 
Wurra! wurrai but what a soight he was! No respict- 
ible pig wud ’a’ bin seen associatin’ wid him.” 

“ Where is he now? ” demanded Norman, with deep 
interest. 

‘‘ He’s enjoyin’ a naded rist in the black growth 
beyint the meadow, wid Eustace a-watchin’ over him 
to see thot he kapes off the grass,” responded O’Con- 
nor. He’s waiting wid great patience for his frind 
Jake. ’Tis an afficting reunion they’ll hov prisintly.” 

While this conversation was going on Norman had 
swung his log across the dead-water, and Barney ran 
lightly over it to the island. 

Arrah, but this is a bur-rd av a place ! ” he 
exclaimed, as he examined the hermit’s camp and its 
surroundings. '' Shure Robinson Crusoe wasn’t in it 
wid Father Toime.” 

After the trio had made their round of the little 
clearing in a tour of inspection, that was a constant 
delight to O’Connor, they returned to the cabin, glad 
of its friendly shelter from the summer sun. 

An’ now tell me iverything thot happened afther 
ye lift camp,” said Barney, when they had seated them- 
selves in the hermit’s rude but comfortable chairs. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 297 

In a few words Norman related the exciting experi- 
ences that had befallen him and Fred since they started 
out upon their scouting tour — a narrative to which 
Barney gave the closest attention. 

“The spalpeens!” he exclaimed, at its close. “To 
think av the nerve av thim ! It’s a satisfaction to know 
thot we made no mistake in gatherin’ in Gusty Peters; 
but, be me sowl, ’twas a bould bluff he made. Be 
the powers, ye’d hov thought by the way he blustered 
around thot we’d made the mistake av tyin’ up the 
angel av innocence. Wurra! but what a foine burst 
av righteous indignation the windy ole haythen was 
afther tratin’ us to.” 

“ He’s the crown prince of bluffers,” declared Nor- 
man. 

“ Begorra, Oi’m thinkin’ he’s the king av thim all,” 
responded Barney. “ Gusty Peters a game warden ! ” 
he exclaimed, with a laugh. “ Wurra! wurra! the gall 
av him.” 

“ Now tell us what happened at camp after we left,” 
said Warner. 

“ It’s a short and swate story,” rejoined Barney. In 
his own way he proceeded to relate to the boys what 
occurred at the camp after they left it. 

“ I should have thought they’d have known better 
than to have made another attempt upon the dam,” 
declared Norman. “ They must have known that Eus- 
tace would have it guarded.” 

“ I rickin the laders were thot desperate thot they 


298 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


were willin’ to take long chances,” declared Barney, 
‘‘ and as for the ithers it was ivident from what Louis 
Barbotte tould us, thot they hod bin loied to entoirely. 
’Twas small notion they hod av what they were goin’ 
up aginst.” 

Gusty probably thought it was then or never with 
them,” commented Warner. ‘‘ It was evident that they 
wouldn’t have any further chances after Norman and 
I got back to camp.” 

“ They moight hov suspicted thot yer failure to come 
back wud hov made us a troifle more suspicious, if they 
hod bothered to use their heads,” said Barney. But 
thot’s bin the trouble wid the spalpeens roight along. 
They’ve done all their thinkin’ — what little there was 
— wid their heels.” 

The conversation was interrupted at this point by 
a grating sound upon the sandy beach, and going out 
of the cabin they found Umber waiting for them with 
the canoe. 

“ An’ how did ye foind Eustace? ” demanded Barney. 

“ His cause was prospering,” responded the hermit. 

“ It’s roight glad Oi am to hear it,” said Barney, 
in a tone of relief. “ Oi was a-fearin’ thot some av 
Peters’s min moight come to his riscue.” 

“ I don’t imagine that there are enough of them left 
to be very formidable,” declared Norman. I think 
that Peters and Jasper were the ringleaders, and pretty 
nearly the whole show.” 

“ I reckon the rest of them are now racing through 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 299 


the woods along the Allegash, like a flock of turkeys 
with their heads cut off/’ added Warner. 

“ Very loikely,” agreed Barney, but Oi’m thinkin’ 
we know av at least three thot won’t do ony racin’ for 
some toime to come. How about this, Father Toime? ” 
he added, turning to Umber. Will this canoe hold 
four av us ? ” 

“ It will carry us safely over the flood,” responded 
Umber, gravely. 

“ Which I suspict manes over the still baver 
wathers,” said Barney. Arrah ! What a funny ole 
joker ye are, to be shure,” he continued, giving the 
hermit a jovial slap on the back. 

“ Desist ! worm of the dust, desist ! ” cried Umber, 
in a high, thin voice, drawing himself up to his full 
height, and pointing a reproachful finger at O’Connor. 

“ I beg yer pardon, sor, if Oi was afther treadin’ on 
the tail av ye coat,” said Barney, in a conciliatory tone. 

Arrah, the dignity av him ! ” he added, in an under- 
tone, to the boys. 

‘‘ Embark,” said the hermit, briefly. 

A little later the canoe was making its rapid way 
across the dead-water with Barney in the bow, the 
hermit in the stern, and the boys carefully stowed 
away between them. However much Umber may have 
resented O’Connor’s familiar ways, it was evident that 
he quite approved of his skilful use of the paddle, for, 
as they went on, his grim visage gradually relaxed into 
something resembling a smile of satisfaction. 


300 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Arriving at the meadow they found Eustace and Sol 
keeping guard over Peters and Jasper, a short distance 
back from the foot-path that led through the black- 
growth. It was evident that the two men had found 
no opportunity to exchange confidences, for Peters’s 
swarthy face plainly showed his surprise and appre- 
hension at the appearance of Norman and Fred. 

Before starting on their return to the camp, the 
members of the party enjoyed a hearty meal on the 
generous lunch that had been brought along on the 
trip, and which had been left in charge of Eustace. 
It was an opportunity that evidently did not often come 
Umber’s way, and he improved it to the utmost. 

“ Begorra, it’s some fat we’d be puttin’ on that ould 
bye’s bones, if we cud hov him a wake or two,” 
declared the irrepressible Barney, who was considerably 
impressed with the hermit’s gastronomic powers. 

Peters and Jasper sullenly refused to eat anything. 

Norman improved the opportunity while the meal 
was in progress to relate in detail to Eustace, the 
adventures that had befallen him and Warner in the 
less than three days since they left the camp. 

Eustace was not a little amused at Norman’s story 
of Peters’s attempt to impersonate a game warden, and 
laughed heartily, to the very evident discomfiture of 
the big Allegash boss, who was of necessity, an unwill- 
ing listener to the narrative. 

“ Him a game warden ! ” commented Barney O’Con- 
nor, contemptuously, “ whin ivery wan thot iver heard 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 301 


av.him knows that he’s the wor-rst ould poacher on 
the Allegash. It’s in jail he shud bin years ago.” 

It’s mighty easy for a feller like you to sass a man 
when he can’t help himself,” growled Peters, resent- 
fully. 

“ Oi’ll hov the boys fince in an arana for us, an’ 
thry it out wid ye ony day,” returned Barney, hotly. 

You must admit. Gusty,” interposed Eustace, ‘‘ that 
as a game warden you are a good deal of a joke.” 

‘‘ That’s all I meant it to be,” asserted Peters, lamely, 
I don’t know about that,” returned Eustace. “ You 
not only impersonated an officer; but you availed your- 
self of the pretense to make a false arrest of Carver 
and Warner, and to detain them against their will. 
I am inclined to think that the court may not look upon 
the affairs in quite the humorous light that you pretend 
to. Indeed I am inclined to think it will prove a rather 
costly experience for you. Go on, Norman.” 

Continuing his narrative Norman related the con- 
versation he had overheard between Peters and a man 
whom the big Allegash boss addressed as “ Falken- 
ham.” 

‘‘Austin Falkenham!” exclaimed Eustace. “Just 
what I thought! I’ve suspected from the first that 
some of the big fellows were back of this whole thing.” 

Peters’s face clearly showed his surprise and con- 
sternation at this unexpected revelation. The sweat 
stood out upon his face, and he was plainly depressed 
and disconcerted. 


302 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Ye must be mistaken 'bout thet, sonny/' he pro- 
tested, nervously. ‘‘Ye prob'ly dreamed it." 

“ It's no dream," asserted Norman, stoutly. “ Every- 
thing occurred exactly as I have said it did." 

“ Remarkable boy he'd be," said Eustace, in a tone 
of sarcasm, “ not only to dream the name of a man he 
never saw or heard of; but also to be able afterwards 
to describe him so accurately that any one who ever 
saw him would know him at once." 

“How d’ye know he never saw 'im afore?" per- 
sisted Peters, querulously. 

“ I happen to know that he was never in Maine until 
he came here last winter to work for the Lakeland 
Lumber Company," retorted Eustace. “ I happened to 
be boss of that crew, and I do not remember that we 
were favored by any calls from Mr. Austin Falkenham. 
You never met him before you saw him at Gusty's 
camp, did you. Carver ? " 

“ Never,” responded Norman, with emphasis. 

“ I think we’ll have no difficulty in proving that fact, 
Peters,” declared Eustace, confidently, “ and my own 
opinion is that you won’t gain much by trying to 
deny it.” 

“ I won't stand for anything but the truth — ye 
might jest es well understand thet from th' start,” 
snapped Peters, angrily. “ We ain’t goin' t' be lied 
erbout or imposed upon — are we, Jake?" 

“ Not by a long shot," responded Jasper, with an 
effort at bravado. His voice was hollow and insincere. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 303 


hqwever, and he was obviously depressed. Indeed it 
was apparent that both the Allegash leader and his lieu- 
tenant were in anything but a buoyant frame of mind. 
They were evidently impressed with the fact that events 
had broken badly so far as they were concerned, and 
that the future was far from bright for them. 

At the close of the rough but substantial meal, the 
cords which bound the legs of Peters and Jasper were 
removed. They were then bound together by a stout 
rope, and started for camp, Eustace and the hermit 
leading the way, with the others bringing up in the 
rear. The journey was necessarily a slow one, the 
bound arms of the prisoners making their progress 
slow, especially through the swamp, where the tangle 
of the thick-growing cedars and windfalls disputed 
their passage. They were all relieved when they finally 
emerged into the tote-road, where the walking was 
comparatively easy. 

Here they sat down to rest upon a long spruce wind- 
fall by the roadside, and Peters, who had maintained 
a sullen silence on the march, improved the opportunity 
to speak. 

“ What air ye a-goin’ to do with us ? he demanded, 
in a surly tone. 

‘‘ I don't know," responded Eustace. 

‘‘ I believe when we last went over this route in your 
company you were kind enough to tell us in answer to 
that same question that we were headed for court," 
said Warner. It would be even more funny, wouldn’t 


304 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


it, if our positions were reversed and you were really 
headed there yourself.” 

“ IVe noticed that you and Jake have not been in 
the jovial and humorous frame of mind to-day, that 
made you so entertaining on that trip,” added Norman. 
“ Why so glum? ” 

“ Shet up! ” growled Peters. ‘‘ Youngsters like you 
should show some respect for their elders.” 

** Begorra, wid the experience they’ve hod wid ye, 
it’s moighty little rispict they can have for ye,” inter- 
posed Barney, “ an’ what’s more, ye don’t desarve ony, 
ye ould rascal ! ” 

Peters’s teeth came together like the jaws of a trap, 
and he made the rest of the journey in silence. 

The men of the crew left their work on the dam as 
the party came in sight of the camp, and came forward 
to meet them with many expressions of satisfaction. 
The boys were given a rough but hearty welcome, that 
made it very evident that they held a warm place in 
the hearts of the men. 



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CHAPTER XXV 


THE ESCAPE OF PETERS AND JASPER 

While none of the men at the Chamberlain dam camp 
had any respect for Peters and Jasper, there was one 
there who had a special hatred for them, and who was 
not at all backward in making it manifest. The wound 
of Louis Barbotte, although not dangerous, was a pain- 
ful one, and had not tended to improve his naturally 
choleric temper. He had remained in his bunk since 
his capture of the night before, morose and sullen, 
accepting the favors that were done him in an ungra- 
cious spirit. In the apprehension that his wound might 
prove fatal terror had loosened his tongue; but once 
convinced that his fears were groundless, he had sud- 
denly become taciturn, and had answered the men who 
had waited upon him in surly monosyllables. 

The sight of Peters and Jasper, however, suddenly 
loosened his tongue. 

“ Sapre diable ! ” he hissed, suddenly sitting up in 
his bunk. “ Yo’ t’ink eet ver’ ver’ fonny for keek oop 
de row! Get Louis Barbotte on troub’. Yo’ ronne 
way ver’ fas’; yo’ kep’ yo’ skeen all whole. Bagosh, 
yo’ t’ink yo’ play me wan ver’ smart treek; yo’ laugh 
yo’se’f on yo’ face I ” 


30s 


3o6 with PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 

The features of the wounded man were distorted 
with rage, and his voice rose to a thin crescendo. 

Ba cripe ! I keel yo’ ! I keel yo’ ! he shrieked, 
in a frenzy of passion. 

With a sudden movement he snatched a rifle from 
the pegs above his bunk and snapped it at Peters, who 
staggered back, with a gasp of terror. Fortunately the 
weapon was not loaded, and Barney O’Connor lost no 
time in snatching it from the infuriated Frenchman, 
who sank back upon his bunk weeping hysterically. 

‘‘ Great Scott I What’s the matter with ye, Louis ? ” 
demanded Peters, when he recovered his voice. “ What 
ye mean a-tryin’ for t’ murder me? Honest Injun, I 
never did ye no harm in my life — hope t’ die if I did. 
I was alius your friend. What in the world’s got into 
ye? Have ye gone clean daft? ” 

“ Don’ yo’ lie for me ! ” shouted Barbotte, with an 
effort to control himself. “ Yo’ ban no frien’. Yo’ 
tole me com’ help for blow oop dam. Yo’ say no wan 
on guard; jus’ easy leetle job for earn me wan bonder 
dollarre. Yo’ bat yo’ life dere was ban guard. He 
shoot me rat down! prattee queeck, rat away. Yo’ an’ 
Black Jake ronne off, jus’ fas’ yo’ can, an’ lef’ me! 
Oh, yass, yass, yo’ ban wan ver’ beeg frien* for me. 
Ba cripe! Yo’ look out on yo’se’f. I keel yo’ yet.” 

“ Begorra, it’s grate frinds they are indade,” said 
Barney, glancing from Barbotte to Jasper. “ ’Tis a 
rare bur-rd thot can hov two av the loikes av thim in 
his gang an’ escape a funeral.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 307 


The man’s out of his head I He’s clean, ravin’ 
crazy ! He doesn’t know what he’s sayin’ ! ” exclaimed 
Peters, in an agitated voice. “Ye mustn’t put any stock 
in him. There’s no truth in what he’s a-tellin’ of ye. 
I never hed nothin’ to do with blowin’ up the dam.” 

“ Big lie. No helpum! ” declared Sol Soc, in a tone 
of disgust. 

“ I reckon es how ’t would be better for ye in th’ 
long run to tell th’ truth an’ shame th’ devil,” admon- 
ished Tom Boggs, who had been present and witnessed 
Barbotte’s frenzied act. 

“ It’s in grate luck ye are to be livin’ this minute,” 
added O’Connor. 

Peters sank down weakly upon the deacon seat. 

“ Untie my hands, and I’ll — I’ll take keer o’ myself,” 
he said. “ If ye don’t it’s your duty t’ keep thet fellow 
away from me.” 

“ Ye’ll be responsible for any harm thet comes from 
him,” supplemented Jasper. 

“ Look here, Barbotte,” said Eustace, sharply. “ It’s 
about time for you to cool down and be a man. No 
one ever gained anything by trying to take the law 
into his own hands. I want no more of it — no more 
of it. Do you understand ? ” 

“ He mak’ me for be wan beeg fool. He — ” began 
Barbotte. 

“ Dry up! ” interrupted Eustace, peremptorily. “ Not 
another word. If you stay here you’ll behave yourself, 
and try no more capers like that. Are you going to 


3o8 with pickpole and peavey 


be decent, and give us no more trouble, if I let you 
stay here ? 

Barbotte was silent. 

“ Answer me ! ” insisted Eustace, sternly. 

“ Ya — yass,’' said Barbotte, in a choked voice. 

“ See that you remember it,” continued Eustace. 
“ Peters and Jasper are my prisoners as well as your- 
self. I intend that no harm shall come to any of you 
while you are in my custody. If you attempt any 
violence again while you are in my care Ell tie you up 
in a way that won’t be pleasant for you. Just bear 
that in mind.” 

Barbotte made no response, and Eustace turned to 
Peters and Jasper. 

‘‘ It won’t do either of you two men the slightest 
good to lie,” he said. “ I have evidence enough to 
convict you both in any court in the State. You were 
the men who were in charge of the work of blowing 
up the dam here. Failing in your first attempt, you 
came back here to try again, but met with a warm 
reception. I think you must be satisfied by this time 
that the whole business was a mistake on your part. 
You might as well understand, first as last, that this 
dam is here to stay. The men behind us will not stand 
for its removal.” 

‘‘ I’ve quit. I’m all through,” declared Peters. “ If 
I ever git out o’ this ’ere country you nor any one else 
will ever see hide nor hair o’ me agin. What d’ye say, 
Jake?’^ 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 309 


“ Same with me/’ asserted Jasper, promptly. I 
was ready to quit some time ago.” 

‘‘ I believe you showed the boys a commission as a 
game warden,” continued Eustace. 

“ Yes,” admitted Peters. 

“ Ed like to look at it,” continued Eustace. 

“I — I left it at the camp,” declared Peters, very 
red in the face, and evidently ill at ease. 

‘‘ I think you’re mistaken about that,” said Eustace, 
coolly. ** I reckon you have it in your pocket right 
now. Just run through him, Sol, and see if Pm right.” 

Peters rose quickly to his feet. 

“ I protest agin’ any sech doin’s ! ” he exclaimed, 
angrily. “ The articles in my pocket is my private 
property. They ain’t ary one on ye got any right to 
tetch ’em.” 

‘‘ Your protests don’t go. Gusty,” said Eustace, 
calmly. Search him, Sol.” 

“ Hoi’ on — hoi’ on thar,” cried Peters, in alarm. 

They’s no call to do thet. I’ll show ye all I’ve got.” 

Thot’s a moighty sinsible conclusion on your part,” 
declared Barney O’Connor. 

When I need any of your assistance, Barney, I’ll 
call for it,” said Eustace, coldly. 

For once the irrepressible O’Connor was plainly dis- 
concerted. 

Oi beg ye pardon, Misther Eustace,” he said, hum- 
bly. Oi’ll not butt in agin. Oi’ll be as dumb as an 
oysther.” 


310 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


You^ll have t’ untie my hands if Tm f unload my 
pockets for ye/' continued Peters. 

All right," replied Eustace. You may untie them, 
Sol, on both him and Jake." 

In a short time the Indian had removed the ropes that 
bound the arms of Peters and Jasper, and the prisoners 
were stretching their cramped limbs in evident appre- 
ciation of the relief that had been afforded them. 

After a moment’s hesitation Peters pulled out a large 
official-looking envelope from his breast pocket, and 
handed it to Eustace. 

“Is that all?" 

Eustace was looking Peters squarely in the eye, and 
the big Allegash boss was rendered visibly uneasy by it. 

“ It’s all ye asked for," he said, uneasily. 

“ But you have some other papers there," persisted 
Eustace. 

“ Only a few private letters. Ye surely don’t want 
those!" 

Peters was sweating freely, and it was evident that 
he was not a little disturbed by the turn of events. 

“ I want to see them all," declared Eustace, firmly. 
“ I’ll decide later how many of them I will keep." 

Peters turned towards the door as if looking in des- 
peration for some means of escape; but Sol Soc was 
blocking the way, and, with a muttered curse, the big 
Allegash boss drew forth a package af letters and 
handed them to Eustace, who immediately put them in 
his pocket. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 31 1 


'‘I’ll examine them later,” he said. "Just now I 
am interested in your commission as game warden.” 

He seated himself coolly upon the deacon seat, and 
drew forth the paper contained in the big envelope. 

" Why, this runs to R. B. Peters,” he said. " Those 
are not your initials.” 

" No,” admitted Peters. 

" Your initials are G. A. ? ” 

" Yes.” 

" And this commission belongs to your brother, 
doesn’t it ? ” 

" Yes.” 

" Of course you know that you have laid yourself 
liable by impersonating an officer ? ” 

" I seem to hev laid myself liable pretty generally,” 
admitted Peters. 

" Well, there’s no doubt of that,” said Eustace. 

" I’ve made a rich haul, Barney, in those letters,” 
declared Eustace to O’Connor, a little later. 

" Oi suspicted as much,” responded Barney. 

" They lay the whole plot bare. It is true that the 
dynamite scheme was Gusty’s; but that was only an 
incident in the working out of the plot that originated 
with some much bigger men. Peters, after all, was 
only a tool. He had nothing personal at stake in the 
matter.” 

" I don’t see what further ye need av him now thot 
ye hov the letthers.” 

Eustace gave a cautious glance about him. 


312 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ I don’t/’ he admitted. ‘‘ He and Jasper are a 
couple of white elephants on my hands. When our 
people get these letters and quietly notify certain big 
Allegash operators that they have them whenever 
needed, it is pretty safe to say that there will be no 
further attempts to destroy the dam here. It will be 
peace and good will on the Chamberlain waters for 
many years to come.” 

“ I rickin ye’d betther hov a quiet talk wid Sol Soc,” 
said Barney, dryly. ** He can see a hole in a groind- 
stone ivery toime — if ye’ll only take the throuble to 
pint it out to him.” 

Thanks ! ” returned Eustace, with a smile. ‘‘ That’s 
a good suggestion, Barney. I think I’ll act upon it.” 

A little later Eustace sat apart from the men of his 
crew in very earnest conversation with Peters. It 
was evident that the big boss of the Allegash was in 
a decidedly subdued and docile frame of mind, and the 
men had no doubt that he was trying to persuade Eus- 
tace to make matters as easy as he could for him and 
Jasper when they were finally brought before the courts. 

When the crew retired for the night Eustace took 
the precaution to bind up the arms and legs of Peters 
and Jasper, an ordeal to which they submitted without 
complaint. The two prisoners slept between O’Connor 
and Sol Soc, the Indian having the post nearest the 
door. 

The members of the crew were not a little surprised 
in the morning to find that both men had made good 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 313 


their escape. Some of the men were disposed to pursue 
them; but Eustace promptly put a veto upon the idea, 
declaring that, with the start they had, it would not be 
possible to overtake them. 

Later in the day a man from one of the Allegash 
crews, on his way to the East Branch, stopped over 
night with Eustace and his men. 

“ I met Gusty Peters and Black Jake Jasper on the 
way up,” he remarked casually in the course of con- 
versation. “ They were going down the Allegash in 
a canoe, an’ I j edged by the time they was makin’ thet 
they thought the ole Nick himself was after ’em.” 

“ Oi think they’ve finished their work in this section,” 
declared Barney O’Connor, and the newcomer looked 
decidedly mystified at the laugh which followed. The 
conversation soon drifted into other channels, however, 
and the incident was forgotten. 

‘‘ Well, boys, I reckon we can finish up this job on 
the dam to-day,” said Eustace the next morning, as 
the men were starting for their work. 

We can thot,” responded Barney O’Connor, and 
lave it stronger thin it was before.” 

“ I think, Norman, that you and Fred could do your 
best work for us to-day, by going back to that brook 
you found and getting us a good big mess of trout. 
Father Time wants to get back to his farm, and, as I 
am hoping to get out of here to-morrow. I’m going to 
turn over some of our provisions to him. I fancy some 
flour, coffee, beans, bacon, salt, sugar, tea, and a good 


314 WITH PiCKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


supply of pork will not come amiss to him. It will 
probably take him several days to get all of his supplies 
to the island; but I thought you boys wouldn’t object 
to toting some of them for him, at least to the short 
cut that leads through the swamp from the tote-road.” 

Not at all,” declared Norman. 

‘‘ It will be a pleasure,” added Fred. 

“ I was going to speak to you about that very 
matter,” continued Norman. I know that Umber is 
in need of just the kind of assistance you have given 
him. I was planning to help him, and will be glad to 
pay for the supplies you have furnished him.” 

‘‘Your money will not be any good for that pur- 
pose,” returned Eustace. “ I feel that the company 
owes him that much, and that it will want to pay the 
debt. If you want to help him, however, you had 
better do so in money. Then he will be able to secure 
what supplies he needs from the sporting-camps.” 

“ That’s a good suggestion,” returned Norman, with 
enthusiasm. “ I’m going to start him with the lion’s 
share of my emergency fund.” 

“ I think he will make good use of anything you 
may give him,” said Eustace. 

“Do you know anything about him?” asked Nor- 
man. 

“ Only what that fellow that stopped with us last 
night said.” 

Norman looked surprised. 

“ I didn’t suppose he knew him,” he said. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 315 


I don’t know as he did,” returned Eustace ; “ but 
it appears that he had done some guiding on the Alle- 
gash, and heard of him. It seems that Father Time 
is something of a character in this section.” 

‘‘What did he say about him?” asked Norman, 
deeply interested. 

“ Well, it seems that he was once a practising lawyer 
in some Massachusetts city. An epidemic of some kind 
came along and carried off his wife and two children 
— a boy and a girl — and left him about distracted. 
He came up into this country to rest and build up. 
He’s been here ever since. Of course he isn’t all there ; 
but they do say that there’s quite a thread of horse 
sense running through his vagaries.” 

“ I’m glad to know about it,” declared Norman. “ I 
suspected from his language that he was an educated 
man. I shall try to see that he never again wants 
enough to eat and wear.” 

“ I had thought about that myself,” said Warner. 
“ I’m not in position to do as much as Norman, but 
I had made up my mind that before fall he would be 
supplied with a good flock of hens, and a couple of 
pigs, and something to feed them on.” 

“ I’ve no doubt he would be glad to get them,” said 
Eustace, heartily. “ I’m glad you boys have thought 
about the old man, for he has certainly done you a 
good turn, and deserves well at your hands.” 

A little later the boys, heavily loaded with provisions, 
were making their way up the tote-road in company 


3i6 with pickpole and peavey 


with Umber, who, with the provisions that he carried, 
was also possessed of a bright new axe — which he 
evidently looked upon as a prize of the first magnitude. 
Fred Warner was also equipped with an axe. When 
they finally reached the point where the short cut across 
the swamp branched off from the tote-road, the hermit, 
who was evidently distressed with the fear that they 
were giving too much of their time to his affairs, 
begged them to leave him. 

“ You have been very kind to me,” he said, “ but I 
can get along very nicely now. Time is my largest 
possession.” 

“We can never begin to repay you for your kindness 
to us,” responded Norman, heartily. 

“ I was only too glad to be of service,” said the 
hermit. “ I may not see you again,” he added, “ but 
if you are ever in this region remember that the heart 
of the still beaver waters will always have a welcome 
for you.” 

“ Let^s cut a path through the swamp,” exclaimed 
Warner, with a burst of inspiration. “We can catch 
all the fish we can carry in a couple of hours.” 

“ That’s a good idea,” agreed Norman, with enthu- 
sism. 

In spite of the hermit’s protests, the boys set to work 
with him, and by dinner time had cut a way well into 
the swamp. Umber shared with them the generous 
lunch they had brought along. They resumed their 
work after dinner; but at two o’clock yielded to the 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 317 


urgent wishes of the hermit and bade him good-bye. 
It was evident that their stay was making Umber more 
and more nervous, and they accepted his statement that 
with the good start he had got he would have little 
difficulty in finishing up the work alone. Before they 
parted with the hermit, however, Norman succeeded, 
after considerable persuasion, in getting him to accept 
a gift of thirty dollars, which he felt would go far in 
providing for his modest needs for several months to 
come. 

They went at once to the brook after leaving the 
hermit, and, when they returned to the camp that 
night, carried along with them a mess of beautiful 
brook trout that proved more than sufficient to meet 
the demands of the hungry crew that was waiting for 
them, and whose members welcomed them back with 
hearty good-fellowship. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


BACK TO EAST BRANCH WATERS 

Well, we are all through here, boys,’’ announced 
Eustace to Norman and Fred, soon after supper. ** We 
have completed our work in good shape. The dam is 
stronger than it ever was before, and I don’t believe 
there will be any further attempt to destroy it. In fact 
I think we shall have the situation pretty much in our 
own hands from this out. I have made all arrange- 
ments to return to the big crew on the East Branch 
to-morrow.” 

I shall leave Sam Wilkins, Jerry Cox, and three of 
the other men here on the dam, and take the rest of 
the crew along with me. They are pretty sure to be 
needed on the main drive.” 

‘‘ It has been a strenuous five days we’ve put in 
here,” said Warner. 

Eustace gave him a quizzical look. 

‘‘ You and Norman appear to be no worse for your 
experiences,” he said. They will be valuable to you. 
They taught you self-reliance beside giving you some- 
thing to think about when the long winter comes.” 

‘‘ There will be ten of us in the return party, will 
there?” asked Norman. 


318 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 319 


No, only nine,” replied Eustace. I sent Baslis 
Mace ahead yesterday to arrange for the carry around 
Webster stream.” 

Well, how are we going to make the return trip in 
two canoes ? ” 

“We can’t,” returned Eustace, with a laugh. “ We 
shall have to use three. Jerry Cox has two big ones 
stored in the old horse hovel. We are to have one of 
them in addition to the two we brought here. It’s 
plenty large enough to carry four.” 

The following morning there was a specially early 
breakfast, and just as the sun was beginning to show 
over the eastern tree-tops, the company’s staunch little 
tug was making its way down the lake with Eustace 
and his men who were returning with him to the East 
Branch waters. Jerry Cox was in his element and 
took a special delight in showing off the paces of his 
craft, which, on most of its trips, was doomed to be 
a burden-hauler with no opportunity to show its speed. 

Nine o’clock found the party at the foot of Telos 
Lake, where they bade good-bye to Jerry Cox. The 
next hour was spent in carrying their canoes and dun- 
nage around the canal to the head of Webster Lake. 
At the foot of this, which they reached a little later, 
they found old man Lajoie waiting with his horses to 
tote them around the boisterous waters of Webster 
stream. Before starting out on this part of their jour- 
ney, however, they stopped to cook and eat a hearty 
dinner, a fine mess of trout secured by Sol, Barney, 


320 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Norman, and Fred adding not a little to the zest of 
the meal. 

It was a little after the noon hour when the party 
once more resumed their journey in the rear of Uncle 
Lajoie’s tote-team. Norman and Warner, accompanied 
by Eustace, again improved the opportunity to view the 
wild and picturesque beauty of Webster stream as its 
turbulent waters raced wildly amid their rocky barriers, 
on their long journey to the sea. 

It was nearly four o’clock when they dropped their 
canoes into the waters of the East Branch at the lower 
end of Indian Carry. 

From there on the journey was comparatively easy 
and at six o’clock they were in camp below the dam 
at the foot of Grand Lake, greatly to the delight of 
Jake Wiley, who was thirsting for news from the 
Chamberlain dam, and who promptly abandoned his 
tent and took up his abode with them. 

It was a glorious summer night. The mosquitoes 
and black flies that had proved such a pest to them in 
the early part of the season, were no longer in evidence, 
and the men of the crew were enabled to enjoy their 
after-supper pipes in a state of peace. 

Perhaps it was this, or possibly the new moon that 
lit up the night with its pale radiance — at any rate 
the men were one and all in an unusually reminiscent 
mood. 

They hed a terrible jam jest below the mouth o’ 
the Sebois,” declared Wiley, as he blew big rings of 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 321 


smoke from his cob pipe. Hung ’em up the best part 
of a week. Dud Sweeney went out an’ cut it, but he’s 
never come back.” 

Killed ! ” exclaimed Eustace, incredulously. 

“ That’s what,” asserted Wiley. “ Ye see the jam 
hauled a little afore they was a-lookin’ for it. It came 
down like a race boss. Dud was off with the first 
crack, an’ had pretty nigh fetched the shore, when a 
log upended an’ gin him an awful pelt — knocked him 
clear out into the white water. He ain’t ben seen 
since.” 

And they haven’t recovered the body yet ? ” queried 
Eustace. 

They hadn’t the last I hear tell — and thet was 
day afore yesterday.” 

“ It’s too bad — too bad,” declared Eustace, with 
evident feeling. ** Dud was a hard worker, and one 
of the best drivers on the Penobscot. He was a daring 
fellow, and was always ready to cut the key-log in a 
jam when there was nobody else that dared to do it. 
I was looking to see him and Sol and Barney and Tom 
make about the best quartette of drivers that ever went 
down the East Branch.” 

Shure, an’ the pitcher thot goes too often to the 
well gets broken at last,” said O’Connor, soberly. 
“ Arrah, but it’s a brave way to go onyhow,” he added, 
in a lighter tone. “ I niver happened t’ work wid 
Dud, though I knew he had the riputashun av bein’ a 
crack waterman, an’ bedad a man as carries thot name 


322 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


on the East Branch, takes his loife in his hands a good 
many toimes to earn it” 

“No soldier ever encounters half as many dangers 
in a campaign,” asserted Eustace. “ There's scarcely 
an hour in the day, except the short time he sleeps, 
when a crack man on the drive isn’t playing battledore 
and shuttlecock with death. The wonder is that so 
many of them come through alive.” 

“ What has alius amazed me, hes ben to see some 
of the men a-blowin’ off steam in practical jokes after 
doin’ a day’s stunt thet would have tired an ox,” 
declared Boggs. “ Jest ye think o’ boy Barney here 
doin’ the work of about three able-bodied men during 
the day, an’ then playin’ Windigo through the night.” 

“ ’Tis the small wit o’ me that runs away wid me 
jedgment,” said Barney, ruefully. “ Ouch, but thot 
duckin’ the byes gave me was a moighty could one ! ” 

“ There’s one thing about Barney’s practical jokes,” 
interposed Eustace. “ They are usually about as harm- 
less as such kind of pranks can ever be.” 

“ Sure Oi’ve never killed any wan yit,” asserted 
Barney. 

“ No,” admitted Eustace, “ but you’ve scared all the 
growth out of a number of them. I remember one 
spring on the West Branch with old Bill Lemon for 
boss when two or three of the boys found a chance to 
let up a little one day. A jam had formed and Uncle 
Bill had gone back a ways with one or two of the men 
to get some dynamite cartridges. We were bunkin’ 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 323 


for the time being in an old lumber camp. There really 
wasn^t much the men could do while he was gone; but 
nevertheless he wanted them to keep a-moving. Bill 
always seemed to think that a river driver was another 
name for perpetual motion, and he always looked hurt 
when the crew stopped to eat their meals.” 

“ He was the feller thet did the heavy driving” com- 
mented Boggs. 

‘‘You knew him, did you?” asked Eustace. 

“ Did my first work on the Penobscot under him.” 

“ Well, then you will appreciate the kind of a joke 
he’d be apt to play.” 

“ I reckon I can,” responded Boggs, with a grin. 

“ Well, he was a-coming back with that dynamite 
the day I speak of when he spied four of the men 
a-playing a game of cards in the old oat house. They 
were so busy that they didn’t see him. What did that 
old knave do but explode one of his cartridges on the 
outside corner of the oat house! I tell you there was 
an awful shaking up. Those four men came a-tearing 
out of the tumbling ruins with their hair on end, and 
never stopped till they got to the river. Some of the 
boys thought Bill had gone too far; but there didn’t 
any of them care to take it up with him. I don’t recol- 
lect that there were any more lapses into social affairs 
during the rest of that drive.” 

“ What a gang o’ hollow eyes old Bill used to show 
up with at the close of a drive ! ” exclaimed Boggs. 
“Gaunt, sunburned, calloused, foot-sore, long-haired 


324 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


critters, so ragged thet they didn’t look fit to be seen 
by civilized folks. But it didn’t take some on ’em very 
long t’ blow in their roll arter they reached Bangor. 
There was sharkers enough a-waitin’ for ’em es long 
es their money lasted. You knew Sim Davis?” he 
continued, turning to Eustace. 

“ I’ve heard of him. He was the fellow who ducked 
Parson Cayle, wasn’t he ? ” 

“ The same feller,” replied Boggs. “ I wasn’t there 
myself; but an ole feller who was told me all about it. 
Cayle was a good, clean feller, a little slow-witted, but 
honest and steady goin’. He didn’t drink, nor smoke, 
nor swear, so the men got to callin’ of him Parson, 
till by an’ by nobody remembered what his real name 
was. The drive started early thet year, an’ there was 
consider’ble ice for a spell in places along the shore. 
Th’ crew got t’ Wolf Cove one Sunday morning. Some 
rascal had toted in a keg o’ rum an’ most of th’ men 
proceeded t’ git drunk. In the midst of their hilarity 
some one declared es how it was time th’ Parson was 
baptized. With thet they cut a hole through the ice, 
an’ stripped the poor critter an’ soused him. It was 
pretty tough medicine, but Cayle was game an’ bore it 
like a major. They gin him a good rub down, an’ 
greased him in lard, an’ hed consider’ble fun with him. 
Still if they’d been willin’ to hev stopped at that pint 
there probably would no harm hev resulted. But they 
kep’ up their drinkin’ an’ pretty soon Sim Davis declared 
thet th’ Parson must be baptized agin. He allowed thet 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 325 


the fust one didn't take. With thet they perceeded to 
hustle th' Parson to th' hole in the ice agin. It was 
freshet pitch, an' the current was swirlin' in an' out o' 
the cove with consider 'ble ginger. Jest es they shoved 
th' Parson under Sim Davis lost his holt on him an' 
he was swept under the ice an' drowned. They said 
the yell the poor critter let out o' him was enough to 
make yer blood run cold. It sobered thet gang all 
right. They got together and agreed to say thet the 
Parson was drowned a-breakin' of a jam. Thet was 
th' story thet went in the settlements for a number of 
years. It wasn't till arter Sim Davis's death thet th' 
true facts leaked out. When Sim came back on the 
drive the next spring his hair was white es snow. 
No one could get him to tech a drop o' liquor. When 
the drive got nigh t' Wolf Cove he crossed the river 
an' made a wide circle through th' woods t' avoid seein' 
th' place. The crew found him a-waitin' for 'em three 
miles below thar. He alius did thet every spring. 
Wasn't money enough in Maine to hev tempted ’im to 
go a-nigh thet place agin. When he come t’ die they 
found he'd willed what little he hed to th' Parson's 
mother. Thet was th' fust time she suspected where 
the money she'd been a-gittin' every year, long 'bout 
midsummer, hed come from. I don't think Sim ever 
hed a minute's peace arter th' Parson's death." 

“ Any man's a fool who lets liquor steal away his 
judgment and his brains," asserted Eustace. “ It's a 
good deal better to let the stuff alone." 


326 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Bedad, thot’s th’ truth,” agreed Barney O’Connor. 

’Twas last spring Oi’d ben tippin’ me elbow wid a 
few av the byes, an’ th’ nixt day I cut the kay-log in 
a jam at Nickerson’s ledges; Oi was thot unsteady I 
missed me footin’ when she hauled an’ was caught in 
th’ rush. Bedad, I thought me toime hod come. It 
was sober enough I was thin. I made a vow thot if 
I got out av th’ scrape aloive it’s no more Oi’d meddle 
wid th’ cups. Thin all me sinses lift me. ’Twas loike 
a drame wid all th’ white wathers a-shoutin’ in me ears, 
‘ Too late ! too late ! ’ Whin I come to mesilf I was 
a-layin’ on the bank wid the byes a-workin’ over me. 
I learned thin thot wan o’ the min had reached out 
from the bushes an’ pulled me ashore from an eddy 
where I had bin thrown. I knew thin that God had 
heard me vow an’ spared me loife. Since thin Oi hov 
bin square wid Him, an’ kept me pledge.” 

“ The fact that you have done so was what led the 
Company to make you assistant foreman this spring,” 
declared Eustace. 

“ I ban come prattee close for be keeled wan tarn 
mase’f,” declared Basils Mace. “ We ban runnin’ Tiger 
Ledges on de Wes’ Branch, in wan grat beeg batteau. 
Dere ban four. Beeg Marcel Fecteau — he seet on 
stern — Luger Ronco an’ Belone Joler, com’ een middel. 
I was ban in bow. Ba cripe ! dat ban prattee small crew 
for ronne dem ledges; but we was t’ink we ban smart 
fellaire. We don’ know so much den w’at we deed 
nex’ day. Ba Joe! we go down dem rapide lak wan 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 327 


streak tonderre an’ lightnin’. It mak’ de win’ blow 
heemse’f on our faces. Our hair stan’ oop straight. 
I nevaire before was gone me so swif’. Firs’ t’ing I 
know dere was ban bomp on boulder w’at stan’ een 
dat w’ite watterre, ’bout middel dem banks. I hear 
dem plank cra-ack. I t’ink dat bottom was gone for 
sure. I jomp me rat out on ledge. Belone Jolef tak’ 
ma plac’ een bow. Ba Joe ! dat batteau was gone before 
I was foun’ me tarn for t’ink.” 

“ Got through safe, did she ? ” asked Boggs. 

“ Ye-as — eet ban wan meericle.” 

It’s alius safest in a place like thet t’ stick by th’ 
wood,” declared Wiley. “Ye at least hev th’ satis- 
faction of hevin’ suthin’ t’ float ye.” 

“ Bagosh, I t’ink dat ban so,” acquiesced Baslis. 
“ Dem odder fellaire ban com’ out all rat’, but I ban 
lef’ out on top dat ledge, so sleepery I t’ink I can’t 
stay on. De win’ blow de beeg spray on ma face. 
Ma head, roun’ roun’ she go! I can’t sect down. De 
watterre lap, lap roun’ ma spike-sole shoe lik’ he say 
‘ Com’, com’ wit’ me. I ban put yo’ to sleep I ’ But 
ba golly! I t’ink what ma ole modder do — I t’ink 
w’at Lilia Marquis do who was promise for be ma 
famme! I shut ma face. I say ' No, no, I hang me 
on tight. I kep ma head. I will do ma best for com’ 
me on top dat scrape.’ ” 

“ It was certainly pretty close quarters for you,” 
said Eustace. 

“ I t’ink ma tarn was com’,” continued Baslis, “ but 


328 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 

de Bon Dieu was not desert me. Prattee soon beeg 
log sweeng 'cross current. It hoi’ wan end on ledge 
w’ere I was an’ nodder wan on shore. De watterre 
was ronne swif over eet, but I was not care. I make 
wan queeck ronne. I jomp on shore. I dance an’ 
seeng, an’ cry me on ma eye. I tole you it ban gran’ 
good t’ing for be alive.” 



Just below Chesuncook Lake, Penobscot River. — Page 328. 



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CHAPTER XXVII 


JAKE WILEY AND THE BEAR 

‘‘ A man can easily face dangers with a lot of other 
fellers ’round him,” remarked Jake Wiley, “ but it’s 
a diff’rent matter when he’s all alone. Say, did any 
of you boys ever know what it was to be really lone- 
some — to feel es if ye couldn’t touch elbows with any 
of yer kind? If ye hev’n’t, ye’d better come up here 
an’ tend dam a spell. I swan. I’ve felt some nights es 
if I was nothin’ but a midge in the tall hair o’ creation. 
Thar’s been times when I’d gladly gin half o’ my sea- 
son’s pay for some one t’ talk to — an’ I reckon ye all 
know I was never a very mouthy feller et thet. Th’ 
big woods an’ the swash o’ waters along th’ shores 
hev a mournful language all their own for a lonesome 
man, an’ sooner or later it’s pretty sartin t’ git on his 
nerves. Talk erbout the screech of a crosscut saw, or 
the rasp of a rat-tail file! Take my word for it, they 
ain’t in it for a single jiffy with the voices of the wild 
when a feller’s all alone with ’em. Tell ye what, thar’s 
nothin’ quite like ’em t’ make yer back hair stan’ up, 
an’ put yer teeth on edge.” 

Wiley paused, and puffed vigorously at his pipe, 
which had nearly gone out. 

329 


330 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ I hed a little experience t’other day,” he resumed, 
when he had it well going again, “ thet convinced me 
thet it wasn’t wise for a man t’ be all alone. I was 
a-comin’ out t’ th’ dam one mornin’, when, right in th’ 
middle o’ th’ path, I come plump onto a bear cub — th’ 
cutest little critter ye ever saw. I looked all round for 
th’ old mother, but she wasn’t in sight; looked for all 
th’ world ’s if the little rascal hed run away from home, 
an’ got lost. I concluded es how it would do no harm 
to shet th’ little feller up for a spell in the tool hovel 
at th’ end o’ th’ dam, an’ see what come of it. I didn’t 
hev any great trouble a-catchin’ of him, though I’ll allow 
th’ little imp was consider’ble spryer than I s’posed he’d 
be. I hadn’t more’n got him tucked comf’tably under 
my arm, however, afore I heard a rumpus behind me, 
an’ turned my head jest in time t’ see thet ole bear 
cornin’ lickity-larrup out o’ th’ woods. I tell ye, she 
was arter me, hot-foot. I didn’t lose no time a-droppin’ 
o’ thet cub, an’ th’ way I skedaddled for th’ dam was 
a caution t’ owls ! I s’posed she’d stop when she got 
t’ her cub; but, by hokey, she didn’t! She kept right 
on, an’ I see it was me for th’ tall timber. I made for 
th’ dam, only stoppin’ long enough t’ snatch up a pick- 
pole thet lay on th’ shore. I tell ye I did some tall 
sprintin’ across th’ top o’ th’ dam to th’ gate-post by 
th’ sluiceway, an’ climbed t’ the top of it pretty lively 
with th’ aid o’ some spikes I’d driven into it. I never 
s’posed thet bear would ’a’ chased me onto th’ dam: 
but, by ginger! thet’s jest what she done, an’ more’n 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 331 


thet, she was a-makin’ surprisin’ good time. I knew 
it wouldn’t be much of a trick for her t’ climb my post, 
an’ I s’picioned thet pickpole wouldn’t amount t’ much 
es a weapon o’ defence. I’d gladly gin a year’s pay, 
’bout thet time, fer a good flyin’ machine — but thar 
wasn’t any t’ be hed. Th’ gate was open, an’ thar was 
a good head o’ water runnin’ through th’ sluiceway. 
It was consider’ble of a jump across; but with thet bear 
right et hand, I was willin’ t’ take long chances. I jest 
planted th’ nose o’ thet pickpole on th’ bottom o’ th’ 
sluiceway an’ vaulted across — landed plump on top o’ 
thet opposite gate-post, though I can’t tell t’ this day 
exactly how I done it. One thing is sartin sure ; money 
wouldn’t ’a’ tempted me t’ tried it agin.” 

“ Reckon thet saved ye,” commented Boggs. 

“ Thet’s jest what it did,” acquiesced Wiley. “ When 
thet bear got t’ the sluiceway she stopped mighty sud- 
den. Then she looked across et me, ’n’ growled, an’ 
showed her teeth, es much es t’ say : * Oh, wouldn’t I 
jest like t’ eat ye! ’ ’Bout thet time another cub come 
a-whinin’ out o’ th’ woods, an’ she went back t’ the 
shore. I thought I’d seen th’ last of her; I climbed 
down from my perch an’ made my way t’ the other 
shore, a-hopin’ she’d clear out an’ leave me — which 
she finally did, ’long ’bout noon, arter she’d raided th’ 
stuff in my cook-tent. When I come t’ consider th’ 
matter o’ gittin’ back, I see thet I wouldn’t ever do it 
by a pole vault. A feller will sometimes do things in 
th’ enthusiasm o’ th’ moment thet he can’t ever do agin. 


332 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


I wandered up th’ shore a piece, where th’ water was 
still, an’ managed t’ find an old log. It wasn’t jest what 
I’d ’a’ selected if I’d hed a choice; but it was th’ best 
I could do, an’ I managed t’ pole my way across t’ th 
other shore on it. I didn’t lose no time a-gittin’ my 
hands on my Winchester. I’ve kept it nigh me ever 
since, in hopes I’d git another look et thet bear. I 
should enjoy a-pumpin’ her full o’ lead; but th’ ole 
hussey hesn’t showed up since. Arter all,” concluded 
Wiley, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe, “ I rather 
guess I ought t’ be satisfied with bein’ alive.” 

“ I reckon ye hed,” was the comment of Tom Boggs, 
as the party turned in for the night. 

Early the next morning the journey down the East 
Branch was resumed. At Stair Falls their canoes and 
dunnage were toted around Forty- rod Carry, the men 
stopping for a short time to enjoy a drink from the 
cool spring near its foot. Following this, the canoes 
were launched again, and the members of the party 
glided along over quiet waters that flowed through 
meadow-lands to the head of Haskell Rock Pitch, about 
two miles below. Here another carry of about three- 
quarters of a mile was resorted to, after which the 
canoes were run to the head of Pond Pitch, the first of 
the series of rapids, which, together, were known as 
the Grand Falls of the East Branch. 

Then followed a carry of four miles, during which 
the boys, in company with Eustace, had an opportunity 
to enjoy at more leisure the grand scenic beauties of 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 333 


this picturesque stretch of river, with its wild and 
sombre background of forest. 

Did any man ever ride a log through there ? ” 
asked Norman, as they gazed in wonder on the yeasty 
current making its noisy way over a sharply descending 
river-bed, thick set with jagged rocks. 

“ I never saw one,’^ responded Eustace, ** although 
I have heard stories about the feat having been accom- 
plished by daring drivers — most of which I am free to 
say that I took with a grain of salt. Sol Soc declares 
that he personally saw a man named Smithers perform 
the feat, and he isn’t much given to drawing the long 
bow. You may perhaps have seen the description of 
one such exploit in Holman F. Day’s poem, ‘ The 
Knight of the Spike-Sole Boots.’ It runs like this: 

‘ Out of the spume and fogs, 

A chap drove through — one o’ Connor’s crevr — 

Riding two hemlock logs. 

He was holding his pickpole couched at death, 

As though it were lance in rest, 

And his spike-sole boots, as firm as roots, 

In the splintered bark were pressed. 

If this be sacrilege, pardon me, pray; 

But a robe, such as angels wear. 

Seemed his old red shirt with its smears of dirt, 

And a halo his mop of hair; 

And never a knight in a tournament 
Rode lists with a jauntier mien 
Than he of the drive, who came alive 
Through the hell of the “ Hulling Machine ” 


That certainly carries the spray of the white 


334 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


water/^ commented Norman, when Eustace finished 
his quotation. “ It has the genuine atmosphere.’’ 

The story,” explained Eustace, is that he made 
that hair-lifting run to rescue a sportsman — a fool- 
hardy tenderfoot who had been wrecked in trying to 
go through the ‘ Hulling Machine ’ in his canoe, and 
who was clinging for life to a projecting ledge in the 
boiling current, in momentary danger of being swept 
away. The men of the crews are always ready to take 
long chances to save life.” 

Below Bowlin Pitch the members of the party paused 
for a leisurely dinner, Sol Soc once more contributing 
an “ appetizer ” in the shape of a fine string of trout. 
Following this, the canoes were again put afloat, and 
the party paddled their way over comparatively smooth 
water to a beautiful camping spot at a place called 
Monument Line, about three miles above the junction 
of the Sebois River and the East Branch. Here a 
tent which Eustace had secured from Jake Wiley was 
pitched, and preparations were made to spend the night. 
The afternoon was well spent, and Eustace declared 
that he wanted daylight for finding Steve Merrill and 
his men. The men were tired with the long journey 
and the carries they had made, and, shortly after 
supper, turned in for the night. 

At daybreak the following morning the members of 
the party were once more on their way down the river, 
and, about the middle of the forenoon, overtook the 
rear drive at the East Branch ferry, just above the 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 335 


Wissataquoik stream. This ferry was a crude affair, 
consisting of a cable stretched across the river, upon 
which a big flat-boat was worked back and forth by 
means of a running pulley. As the logs in the river 
made the further use of the canoes impracticable, they 
were stored at a sporting-camp which did business at 
the ferry, and the dunnage was loaded onto a batteau 
which followed the drive. 

Eustace and his men were given a most hearty wel- 
come from the men of the rear drive, who paused long 
enough in their work to get a hasty account of the 
operations at Chamberlain dam. 

Continuing their journey on foot, they came up with 
the main drive a few miles further down the river. 
The first man to greet them was Felix Lamarre, who, 
with his wangan established at the edge of a meadow, 
was busily at work preparing the noon lunches for the 
hungry men of the crew. 

Ba Joe ! How glad I was ban for see yo',” he 
cried, joyfully, as he shook hands with Eustace and 
the boys. ‘‘ I was scare 'mos' deat’ for t’ink I nevaire 
ban see yo* som' oder tarn.” 

“ Oh, you couldn't get rid of us so easily, Felix," 
responded Norman, lightly, more touched than he 
would have cared to admit by the evident warmth and 
sincerity of the cook’s greeting. “ Still, I don’t mind 
telling you that it’s mighty pleasant for us to know 
that we’ve been missed.’’ 

‘‘ Wal, I gass yo’ ban miss!’’ declared Felix. “I 


336 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


was ban so lonesome I was t’ink som’tam I was ban 
die. I t’ink I could eat som’t’ing now.” 

‘‘ I hope you haven^t lost your appetite on our 
account, old man,” said Warner. “ I reckon you’ve 
had a full better cookee than I was.” 

“ He ban firs’-rat’ fellaire — wit’ peekpole,” declared 
Felix, deprecatingly. I t’ink he better go back on 
top dat driv’ in de mornin’.” 

Bound to put me right back into the harness, I 
see,” said Fred, with a laugh. ‘‘ Well, I think I can 
show you I have not forgotten how to draw the load.” 

“ How are you, old man ? Glad to see you back ! ” 
exclaimed a strong, deep voice at that moment; and, 
turning, the boys found Steve Merrill in the act of 
shaking hands with Eustace. “ I begin to think you 
have been my mascot,” he said. “ You hadn’t been 
off your job two hours before the logs began to act as 
if the Old Harry was in ’em. Ricked an’ jackstrawed 
an’ cob-piled on every blessed thing that could give 
them a lodging. To make matters worse, Jim Benner 
played out on me, and I had to send him back to Larry 
Hunt’s. When he gets better, he’s going to stay and 
do chores there. I had to get in and take charge 
myself, with Skinner for an assistant.” 

“Where’s Jud now?” asked Eustace. 

“ He’s working ahead of the drive now.” 

“ I’ll bet you made things move after you took hold,” 
said Eustace. 

Merrill indulged a rueful laugh. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 337 


** I should have done so, but I didn’t,” he confessed. 

Everything seemed to work against us. We had 
the worst jam of all before we got out of the Sebois. 
When we finally got into the East Branch I began to 
think my troubles were over; but blessed if we didn’t 
get another jam the very next day, and that, too, where 
there was mighty little excuse for it. You heard about 
Dud Sweeney ? ” 

Yes,” replied Eustace; Jake Wiley told me about 
him at Grand Lake.” 

Merrill was silent for a moment. 

“ I have at least one satisfaction,” he said presently, 
in a choked voice. “ I didn’t order him to do it ; he 
volunteered.” 

Did he leave any family?” 

No, he was a single man.” 

“ Well, it might have been worse,” declared Eustace. 

It’s bad enough to lose a good man on the drive 
without having to think that a wife and little ones are 
going hungry because of it.” 

“ It would be almost unbearable,” responded Merrill. 

It always breaks me all up to lose a man. I haven’t 
been good for very much since Dud went under.” 

For a moment neither of them spoke. Presently 
Merrill roused himself, with a sigh. 

How did you make it at Chamberlain? ” he asked. 

First-rate. We repaired the dam and left it 
stronger than it was before.” 

In a few words Eustace related the experiences that 


338 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


had befallen him and his men since they left the 
Sebois. Merrill followed the narrative without com- 
ment, although it was evident that he was deeply 
interested in it. 

Well, boys, how did it seem to be prisoners? ’’ he 
asked, with a smile, at its conclusion. 

“ Well, our experiences might have been worse,’’ 
responded Norman. 

“ It seems to me that you got out of the scrape in 
mighty good shape,” said Merrill, approvingly. I 
reckon Gusty Peters must have thought he’d picked 
up a couple of Tartars; but what shall we do with 
Eustace ? ” he added, with a quizzical look at the 
Sebois boss. 

Norman looked mystified. 

“ What is the charge ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ Aiding and abetting prisoners in making their 
escape,” responded Merrill. 

Eustace looked at the boys, with dancing eyes. 

“ You might as well confess that you suspected me,” 
he said. You haven’t said so in words; but I’ve seen 
the interrogation-mark in your looks.” 

If you did it, you had good reasons for it,” declared 
Norman, stoutly. 

“That’s the stuff!” exclaimed Merrill, well pleased. 
“ I’ll wager he did.” " 

“ Here are some documents that may throw a little 
light on that point,” said Eustace, handing Merrill the 
package of letters he had taken from Gusty Peters. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 339 


Merrill took the letters and walked away to the 
shore with them, where he seated himself on an old 
log, and read them slowly and carefully. 

“ You have done the company a very great service, 
Billy,” he announced to Eustace, when he returned to 
the camp, a little later. “ You have not only put the 
dam in first-class condition, but you have furnished us 
a pretty good guarantee that it won’t be molested again. 
I regard these letters as of such importance that I 
sha’n’t rest easy until they are in the safe of the com- 
pany’s attorney, at Bangor. I reckon I’ll leave you in 
charge of the drive, and take them down to him to-mor- 
row. Things are moving along nicely now; and, with 
such a lucky fellow as you in charge, I don’t imagine 
we shall experience much more trouble in getting into 
the boom at Grindstone. With the additional men we 
have now, we can string ’em ahead wherever there 
seems any chance of a jam forming.” 

“ It’s a good deal easier to prevent a jam than to 
break one,” declared Eustace. 

‘‘ Just my idea,” agreed Merrill. 

“ You’re giving me a pretty big stunt,” said Eustace. 

I hope you don’t expect me to fill your shoes.” 

‘‘ I reckon they wouldn’t be big enough for you, 
Billy,” returned Merrill, lightly. “ If you take my 
place another year, I sha’n’t blame the company.” 

You’ll never get the chance,” declared Eustace, 
with emphasis. They’ll never catch me in this coun- 
try unless you are here to steer things.” 


340 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


A little later, the lunches having been sent out to the 
men, the party at the camp was treated to a hearty 
dinner, cooked in the best style of Felix Lamarre. At 
its close Eustace and Merrill started out at once on 
their tour of inspection. As they were leaving, Merrill 
turned to Norman and Fred. 

I don^t see where I can start you in to advantage 
this afternoon,” he said. You deserve a little recog- 
nition for your services to the company. You may 
take the time off, and go fishing. There^s a small brook 
that empties into the East Branch a little way below 
here, where you ought to do a good business.” 



Ripogenus Falls, Pexobscot Rivek. — Page 340 . 





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CHAPTER XXVIII 


A FOREST CERBERUS 

** This is something of a novelty/’ declared Fred 
Warner, as he and Norman made their way along the 
river-bank a little later. ‘‘ It isn’t often that any one 
gets time off on the drive.” 

“ That’s all the more reason why we should make 
the most of it,” responded Norman. 

“We can’t expect to get trout enough for the whole 
crew,” declared Warner. “ That would be more than 
we could lug.” 

It was a beautiful summer day; and, as they walked 
along, the boys could not refrain from admiring the 
wild flowers that grew along the river-banks, filling the 
air with their pervading fragrance. In a short time 
they reached the brook Merrill had spoken of, and 
which made its way, in a narrow but fairly deep chan- 
nel, through a fringe of alders, to mingle its waters 
with those of the East Branch. The boys found a 
well-trodden shore at its mouth, and a well-defined path 
leading back into the woods, which gave evidence of 
frequent use. The banks grew steeper as they made 
their way further back into the woods ; but the channel 
was unobstructed. 


341 


342 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 

Looks as if this brook had been used for driving/’ 
remarked Warner, as they were trimming up two long, 
limber alders which they had cut for fish-poles. 

‘‘ What makes you think so? ” asked Norman, paus- 
ing in his work to look again at the brook. 

“ Do you see those boulders piled along the banks ? ” 
asked Warner. 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘ Well, those came from the bed of the brook.” 

“ I believe you’re right, Fred,” declared Norman, 
as he finished his inspection. “ Those rocks are piled 
altogether too regularly to be the work of Nature.” 

“ They were put there by human hands,” asserted 
Warner, confidently. If they were not, there’d be 
more of them in the bed of the brook than on its banks. 
As it is, you can see for yourself that the channel is 
perfectly clear of all obstructions. Just ahead you can 
see where it was straightened out. Notice the old bed 
there, strewn with rocks ? ” 

‘‘You’re right, Fred,” declared Norman, after 
another inspection. “ That’s just what was done.” 

“ I imagine that the logs which were run out from 
here came in single file,” resumed Warner; “but, 
unless this runs back some distance, I should have 
thought it would have been cheaper to have landed 
them upon the East Branch in the first place.” 

“So should I,” agreed Norman; “but let’s see if 
these changes have had any effect upon the trout. 
Just hand me that can of worms, please.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 343 


Warner passed his companion a mustard-can, the 
cover of which was punched full of holes. 

Norman selected a worm from it, and carefully 
baited his hook. 

“ Looks as if there ought to be something under that 
bank,” he said. “ The spume seems to have settled 
there, and I’ve often had my best luck in such places.” 

“ Trout like the shade in summer,” said Fred. 

Norman made no response. He stole very quickly 
to the bank, and dropped his hook into the water 
through the center of the foam patch. There was an 
almost immediate tug at his line, and a moment later 
a half-pound trout lay gasping upon the bank. 

Good for you, old boy! ” cried Warner, admiringly. 

Now see me catch the mate to him.” 

But, although both boys fished assiduously, they did 
not, for some time, secure another bite. 

** Looks as if it had been fished to death,” declared 
Norman, in disgust. 

“ That’s what it does,” agreed Fred. 

“ Do you suppose some of our men have tried it 
out?” 

“ I don’t see how they could have,” declared Warner, 
incredulously. “ They have been kept on the jump 
with their work from dawn to dusk, and I don’t imagine 
that trout fishing is very brisk after dark — at least, 
I never found it so.” 

“ Well, this brook has certainly been fished, and 
fished hard,” declared Norman, with conviction. “ Just 


344 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


look at those tracks/’ he added, pointing to a sand bar 
near the shore, which was fairly covered with foot- 
prints. 

‘‘ None of our men made those,” said Warner, after 
a moment’s critical examination of them. 

“What makes you think so?” demanded Norman. 

“ There are no calk-marks,” declared Fred, a little 
impatiently. “ Just look at them. There are mocca- 
sins, boots, and lumbermen’s rubbers there, but no trace 
of a spike-soled shoe.” 

“ Perhaps they were^ made by people from the sport- 
ing-camp,” suggested Norman. 

“ I don’t think so,” said Warner. “ People who 
come up into this country at this season of the year 
to fish are usually after the lakes ; although quite often 
they make a trip up the Wissataquoik stream. The 
fishing there is said to be very good indeed. Besides, 
it is a favorite route to the North Spur of Mount 
Katahdin.” 

“ Do you know, Fred,” exclaimed Norman, his face 
aglow with a new purpose, “ I intend to come here 
sometime when I haven’t anything else to do, and 
cruise this whole country. I intend also to have you 
with me.” 

“ Thank you,” said Warner, with evident gratifi- 
cation. “ It’s very good of you to say that ; but what 
should I be — guide or cook?” 

“ You’d have to be a little of both,” returned Nor- 
man. “ I haven’t picked up your knack of woodcraft 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 345 


yet ; but I fancy I could help you out with the cooking. 
I could at least be your cookee; but what I should 
really want you for, old boy, would be my chum.” 

There were tears in Warner’s eyes. 

“ I shall always remember that you said that,” he 
replied ; “ but I shall never be able to be a ‘ sport.’ 
I have my living to earn, beside helping mother and 
the children.” 

“ Nevertheless, I feel it in my bones, that some day 
you and I will make just such a trip together,” insisted 
Norman. 

“ Ah ! There’s some quick water,” exclaimed Warner. 

Both boys stopped to listen. There was no doubt 
about it. Through the screen of forest trees came the 
sound of falling water. 

With eager steps they made their way forward, and 
presently entered a narrow glen between two hills. A 
short distance up this natural watercourse they found 
their way blocked by a log dam, which extended across 
the glen and held back the waters of the brook in a 
fair-sized pond, upon whose shore was a rough board 
structure with a protruding smokestack. 

“ A portable sawmill ! ” exclaimed Warner, in sur- 
prise. 

“ Where do you suppose they can find a market for 
lumber here?” asked Norman. 

“ Oh, among the sporting and lumber-camps. You 
see, it would save them all a long tote to get it here,” 
explained Warner. 


346 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘ Looks as if they’d been twitching logs from the 
brook,” said Norman, pointing to a smoothly worn 
road that extended around the end of the dam nearest 
the mill. 

“ That’s just what they’ve been doing,” declared 
Warner, in a tone of bewilderment ; “ and it looks as 
if they had been doing it very recently; but I haven’t 
seen a log in the brook, and I don’t recall that we have 
passed any cuttings. Let’s investigate a little.” 

Acting upon this suggestion, the boys crossed the 
brook on a log that spanned it just below the dam and 
evidently served as a foot-bridge. They climbed slowly 
up the smooth grubbed road, that led around the corner 
of the dam, and stood looking at the mill. It was a 
small affair of the portable variety; and it was evident 
that all the logs which it used were dragged in by 
horses; as there was no slip extending into the pond, 
although a well-worn road showed where logs had been 
twitched from its waters. 

The boys were about to enter the mill, when a man 
slouched around the farther corner of it and confronted 
them with a scowling face. He was a short, thick-set 
fellow, with a heavy shock of black hair and a six 
weeks’ growth of stubby beard. His eyes were small 
and round, and his features large and coarse. A pro- 
truding upper jaw gave a wolfish look to his counte- 
nance, while a large ruby nose proclaimed him a hard 
drinker. It was evident that he was in anything but a 
pleasant frame of mind. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 347 

What d’ye want here ? ” he growled, in a menacing 
tone. 

“ Nothing,” returned Warner. 

‘‘ We’re on a little fishing trip,” explained Norman. 

Oh, ye are, hey ? ” responded the newcomer, in a 
sneering voice. “ You fellers from the sporting-camp 
seem t’ think ye own this whole country round here; 
but ye don’t. Understan’ me? Ye don’t,” he added, 
with rising inflection. 

“ We never pretended to,” declared Norman, warmly. 

‘‘Ye don't, hey? Wal, ye’re sartinly very conde- 
scendin’ t’ stoop so low an’ be so humble. What right 
hev ye to be fishin’ here anyway? Didn’t ye know 
this was private property — an’ ye hev’n’t any right t’ 
fish on it ? ” 

“ I know it’s wild land, and that the fish and game 
on it belong to the State,” returned Warner, with spirit. 
“We have a perfect right to hunt or fish on it.” 

“Oh, ye hev, hey? Wal, the both on ye’ll git out 
o’ here right lively, if ye want to git away with whole 
hides. Skedaddle with ye ! ” 

“ What right have you to order us off ? ” demanded 
Norman, hotly. 

“ Don’t ye give me any back talk. I won’t stan’ for 
it. I hev a perfect right t’ order ye off, bein’ as I 
happen t’ own this land.” 

The man spoke in a high-pitched, snarling voice. 
It was evident that, for some unexplained reason, he 
found the presence of Norman and Fred very irritating. 


348 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Come, git out with ye ! ” he added, sharply. 

‘‘ What harm have we done here? ” demanded Nor- 
man. 

“ This is no lyceum,” was the crabbed response. 
“ Fm not holding any argyments with ye. I told ye to 
git, and if ye don’t do it, Fll warm yer jacket for ye.” 

“ And it would be the most expensive job you ever 
tackled,” retorted Norman, white with passion. 

Come on, old boy ; let’s go back to the sporting- 
camp, and leave this genial gentleman alone in full 
possession of his mill and his land,” said Warner, 
taking Norman by the arm. “ Don’t get hot. He 
isn’t worth the powder.” 

“ When I want ye, Fll send for ye,” growled the 
mill-owner ; “ but if I ever ketch ye a-prowlin’ round 
here agin Fll make ye smart for it, or my name ain’t 
Jabe Crowley.” 

You needn’t threaten us,” said Norman, as he 
started to follow Warner down the roadway to the 
log foot-bridge below the dam. “ We’re not afraid 
of you.” 

‘‘ Oh, ye hain’t, hey ? ” returned Crowley, in a sneer- 
ing tone. 

‘‘ That’s what I said,” declared Norman. 

“ Well, I don’t care a tinker what ye say, so long 
as ye git out and stay out.” 

“ Come on. Don’t talk to him,” pleaded Warner. 

Thus admonished, Norman restrained himself with 
an effort^ and followed Fred across the brook. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 349 


They had gone but a short distance down the path- 
way that led to the East Branch, when they perceived 
that Crowley was following them on the opposite bank. 
His presence there stirred Norman up anew. 

Oh, you want that trout, do you?” he shouted. 
‘‘Well, take it!” and, snatching it from the willow 
stringer on which he was carrying it, he hurled it with 
all his strength across the brook. It struck the aston- 
ished Crowley full in the face, and fell at his feet. 

For a moment the mill-owner looked dazed. Then, 
with loud, angry curses, he started in rapid pursuit of 
the boys. 

“ I’ll — I’ll skin ye alive for thet I ” he roared, in a 
frenzy of passion. 

He came down over the bank at a surprising pace 
for a short-legged man; and it would probably have 
been an unhappy experience for the boys, had he suc- 
ceeded in overtaking them. Fortune, however, favored 
them. As he raced wildly down the incline in his 
blind rage, Crowley stubbed his foot on a projecting 
root, and fell headforemost, with a mighty splash, into 
the waters of the brook. 

“ Run! ” shouted Warner, and he and Norman raced 
down the wood-path at a rate of speed the mill-owner 
would never have been able to equal in his palmiest 
days. It was not until they had reached the East 
Branch and were well on their way back to camp, that 
they stopped to take breath and discuss their astound- 
ing experience. 


350 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


Phew! but wasn’t he the limit?” gasped Warner, 
as he threw himself down on a big ledge that projected 
from the shore. 

“ Never saw anything like him,” panted Norman. 

Warner drew a big bandanna handkerchief from his 
pocket, and wiped his face. 

“ Mighty hot day for a foot-race,” he said, with a 
glance at his perspiring companion. 

One is enough for a summer,” agreed Norman, as 
he followed Warner’s example. ‘‘ Do they raise many 
like him round here ? ” 

“ He’s the first one I ever saw, and I hope he may 
be the last,” replied Fred. Men in the big woods 
are proverbially hospitable, but this one is certainly an 
exception to the rule.” 

A regular forest Cerberus,” agreed Norman. 

“ He evidently thought we were stopping at the 
sporting-camp,” continued Warner. He would never 
dream of seeing members of a driving-crew on a fishing 
trip.” 

“ I noticed that you did what you could to confirm 
him in that view,” said Norman. 

Yes. I thought it would be well to throw him off 
the scent. It was very evident that he did not want 
us to see what he was doing, which leads me to suspect 
that it was something that wouldn’t stand investi- 
gation.” 

“Just my idea exactly,” coincided Norman; “but I 
can’t for the life of me imagine what it is. Wouldn’t 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 351 


I just like to go back with Sol Soc and Barney O’Con- 
nor and interview that fellow again ! ” 

You may get a chance to,” responded Warner, 
with a smile. 

“ What makes you think that ? ” 

‘‘ I’m inclined to think that Merrill and Eustace will 
want him looked up a little, when we tell them what 
we’ve seen and heard.” 

** You don’t really think he’s been raiding our drive, 
do you?” demanded Norman, with a burst of com- 
prehension. 

“ That’s exactly what I think he’s been doing,” 
asserted Warner. “ I am very sure he worked last 
night, and I think he intends to work to-night.” 

“ If he’s in that business, I should think he’d be a 
little more diplomatic with strangers,” declared Nor- 
man, dubiously. 

“ He probably would have been if he hadn’t mistaken 
us for a couple of boys from the sporting-camp,” said 
Fred. 

“ But surely he must have sawed some logs of his 
own,” insisted Norman. 

He probably has, a good many of them,” agreed 
Warner. “ He’s simply got around now to extend his 
cut a little at the expense of the company.” 

Upon their arrival at the camp, the boys found Eus- 
tace, who had just returned from his tour of inspection, 
and promptly related to him their experiences of the 
afternoon. 


352 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ I shall have to think this matter over a little, boys,” 
he said, at the conclusion of their story. Norman was 
inclined to feel a little hurt at this cool and nonchalant 
way of receiving the information they had brought to 
camp, and to think that Eustace attached altogether too 
little importance to it. He was reassured a little later, 
however, when Eustace asked him and Warner to tell 
their experiences of the afternoon to Steve Merrill, who 
had returned to the camp. 

It was very evident that what the boys had to say 
made a deep impression upon the East Branch boss. 

“ The skunk ! ” he exclaimed, when the boys had 
finished their story. “ Did you ever hear of such 
nerve, Billy?” 

“ I never did,” confessed Eustace ; “ but you must 
concede, Steve, that the place is mighty well fitted for 
that sort of thing.” 

“ Of course it is,” admitted Merrill ; “ but who’d ever 
look for anything of that kind ? I never heard of any- 
thing like it. I shouldn't imagine that they could pick 
up enough in a night to pay them for their knavery.” 

“ The boys say that their mill is a small one ; and a 
couple of men with pickpoles and men to work the 
brook could pick out quite a bunch of logs in a night.” 

‘‘ That’s true,” admitted Merrill. ‘‘ We must button 
this matter up to-night, Billy,” he added, briskly. “ I 
don’t know how many men they are working, but we 
must have force enough to bag the lot. You pick a 
dozen men, and get in behind the mill. You had better 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 353 


circle the woods, to avoid attention. I’ll take as many 
more, and work up the brook. I suppose you’d like to 
be in at the finish, boys ? ” 

“ We certainly should,” confessed Norman, eagerly. 
“ All right. Go along with Eustace. You’ve cer- 
tainly done the company another good turn to-day.” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE NIGHT RAID ON CROWLEY’s CAMP 

Easy, there, boys! You're making altogether too 
much noise. There's plenty of time to go quietly. If 
we succeed to-night we must take them by surprise. 
I'll be perfectly satisfied if the rest of you will be as 
still as Sol." 

Eustace gave this word of warning to the men of 
his crew who had been selected for the raid on Jabe 
Crowley, and who, impatient for the fray, were making 
their way through the woods at a rate of speed that 
was scarcely suitable for a still hunt. 

The note of caution had the desired effect, and the 
men followed after Sol Soc at a more moderate gait. 
The Indian, realizing that his companions were not his 
equals in woodcraft, slackened his pace and proceeded 
in a more leisurely manner, making it easier for the 
others to keep up with him. 

Begorra, it's not our steps in the bushes they'll be 
afther bearin', wid a rotary saw a-tearin' up logs, an’ 
a team a-twitchin' av ’em out av the wather," grumbled 
Barney O’Connor. 

‘‘ I hope you're right, Barney," said Eustace ; “ but 
I'm not sure that they are sawing nights, If they are, 
354 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 355 


it will make our task a comparatively easy one. In 
any event, it will be wise for us to take all possible 
precautions.” 

Thet’s right,” declared Tom Boggs. Let’s see — 
what was the signal Merrill’s men were to give when 
they closed ’em in ? ” 

“ Two hoots of an owl,” responded Eustace. 

“ You don’t want to forget our password. It would 
be tough lines if you were to mistake one of our boys 
for a member of Jabe Crowley’s gang,” cautioned 
Warner. 

“ Oh, I’ve got that all right,” replied Boggs, good- 
naturedly. “ ‘ Trout ’ ’s the word.” 

“ Eustace says it’s ‘ mum ’ until we get to doing 
business ’round the mill,” said Norman. 

For a time the men made their way through the 
woods in silence, the crescent moon barely affording 
them light enough to discern the dim outlines of Sol 
Soc, as he picked his course through the forest with the 
unerring instinct of his race. 

Presently, they heard ahead the shriek of a rotary 
saw, as it tore its remorseless way through the logs 
that were fed to it. 

A little later they were gathered about Eustace in 
the woods, a short distance from the shore opposite the 
mill, while he carefully assigned each man to his place. 
Across the little pond the mill was ablaze with light. 

“ They are up to date,” declared Warner. They 
have a little dynamo, and light with electricity.” 


356 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


But those are lanterns/’ said Norman, as he pointed 
to moving lights that came and went on the road below 
the dam. 

Yes. They are using them with their teams,” 
replied Fred. 

A few minutes later Sol Soc, who had been recon- 
noitering, returned with the information that there was 
a log across the brook a little further up, which would 
serve the party as a bridge. Soon after this, the men 
of the crew had quietly taken their stations; and noth- 
ing, save the sound of the mill and the clank of chains 
as the big logs were dragged from the brook below the 
dam to the end of the mill, broke the silence of the 
night. These sounds, however, seemed especially loud 
and insistent to the waiting men stationed about the 
little clearing, who were eager to close in and, as Tom 
Boggs had remarked, “ make things interestin’ for 
Crowley and his gang.” 

“ They’re using two pair of horses,” whispered Nor- 
man — a precaution that was quite unnecessary, since 
the rasping plaint of the saw would have rendered his 
voice inaudible to the men in the clearing. 

“ That’s what I thought,” agreed Fred. One is 
loading on the bank of the brook while the other is 
delivering its load at the mill.” 

For a time both boys were silent. The long delay 
was becoming irksome, when suddenly, above the noises 
of the clearing, came two hoarse hoots of an owl. 
There was a rush of feet from the woods about the 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 357 


clearing, and an exultant yell from the men of the 
drive, as they closed in upon Crowley and his followers. 

Norman and Fred were making their way toward 
the mill, when a man dashed toward them in the dark. 
With a quick dive, Warner seized upon him about the 
legs, and threw him upon the ground, where Norman 
promptly grappled with him. 

Let me go ! ” panted a high-pitched, snarling voice, 
wild with fear and passion. 

With a thrill of triumph the boys recognized him as 
Jabe Crowley. The big prize of the raid was in their 
hands ; but it was evident that he would not be captured 
easily. He struggled furiously, squirming, twisting, 
and striking out wildly in his blind rage. Norman and 
Fred were strong boys of their ages; but it was evident 
that they had their hands full in their attempt to subdue 
Crowley. Once he brushed them both off, and half 
rose to his feet ; but, with a combined and special effort, 
the boys stretched him out upon the ground again. 
Here he promptly renewed the struggle; but it was 
soon over. A newcomer pushed his way between the 
boys, and a strong hand closed upon Crowley’s throat. 

“ Who’ve ye got here?” demanded a deep voice — 
it was Steve Merrill who spoke. 

“ Jabe Crowley,” gasped Norman. 

‘‘ Good for you ! ” exclaimed the boss, with satis- 
faction. I was afraid the critter’d got away.” 

Another form came out of the darkness. 

Sol Soc! ” cried Norman and Fred, in duet. 


358 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


“ Tie up this man,” ordered Merrill, who was still 
sitting astride the prostrate log-thief. ‘‘ I reckon the 
fight is about all out of him.” 

In a short time Crowley was securely bound, and 
carried to the mill where the jubilant men of the driving 
crew had herded a sorry-looking lot of prisoners. 

A good night’s work, Billy,” asserted Merrill, as 
he shook Eustace heartily by the hand. “ You seem 
to have landed about everything you went after.” 

“ We were very fortunate,” replied Eustace. “ You 
see, the noise of the mill enabled us to get right onto 
them before they had a suspicion of our presence. The 
boys made quick work of them.” 

“ I wasn’t quite so lucky,” said Merrill. “ We nabbed 
the two fellows who were pickpoling our logs out of 
the river, and got three more along the brook ; but there 
were three, and I’m not sure but four, who made off 
into the woods, and got away from us.” 

Begorra, it’s safe to say they’ll not sthop runnin’ 
this soide av the Canada line ! ” interposed Barney 
O’Connor. 

“No; I wasn’t reckoning on seeing much more of 
them,” said Merrill, dryly. 

“ What are we going to do with these men ? ” asked 
Eustace. 

“ We’ll take ’em back to camp to-night,” returned 
Merrill. “ I shall take Crowley through to Bangor 
with me to-morrow. I’m not quite sure yet just what 
I shall do with the others.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 359 


Bedad, Oi rickin the quick way out av it will be 
t’ lynch the whole bunch av thim,” said Barney. 

“ Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! We ban hire for do dis. 
Don' yo' go for keel us ! " exclaimed one of the pris- 
oners, in tremulous tones. 

‘‘ Shut up ! Close yo' face ! " growled his com- 
panions. 

“ Yo' beeg, beeg fool! You make us for be. tire. 
Don' yo' know he ban mak' fonne wit' you? " explained 
one of them, in a tone of disgust. 

The frightened prisoner subsided, looking decidedly 
chagrined. 

“ Back to the camp, boys. Lead the way, Sol," 
ordered Merrill. 

The party started promptly upon the return trip, 
Sol Soc and several of the other men carrying lighted 
lanterns which had been captured in the raid. It was 
nearly midnight when the crew, who were disposed to 
sit up and discuss their respective parts in the capture 
of Crowley and his gang, turned in for the night. 

The next morning Merrill had reached a decision 
on the question of what to do with the prisoners. 

“ I've thought it all over, Billy," he announced, 
and I've come to the conclusion to take the signed 
statements of all of them except Crowley, and let them 
go. Of course I shall take their post-office addresses." 

“ But perhaps they’ll not give you the correct ones," 
suggested Eustace. 

“ I’ve thought of that," said Merrill ; “ but I have an 


36 o with pickpole and peavey 


idea that if I give them an opportunity to escape jail, 
they’ll deal pretty squarely with me in other respects.” 

‘‘ It should certainly be an inducement for them to 
do so,” replied Eustace, in a dubious tone; “but what 
are you going to do with Crowley?” 

“ I’m going to take him to Bangor with me, and let 
him interview the company’s lawyer. I reckon he’ll 
be fairly supple when he gets through with him.” 

“ But perhaps he’ll refuse to go without a warrant.” 

“ No, he won’t. He’s weakened mightily since last 
night. He has already admitted to me that he is lame, 
and suggested that we settle the whole matter.” 

“ He’s made a virtue of necessity,” said Eustace, 
grimly. “With logs in his mill, at this very moment, 
with our marks on them, he couldn’t very well do 
otherwise.” 

“ He said he didn’t suppose we’d ever miss the few 
he’d taken,” continued Merrill. “ In fact, he pretended 
to be considerably surprised, that a big company like 
ours would take any notice of so trifling a matter. 
The gall of the fellow is something amazing.” 

“ He’s certainly a bad one, Steve,” declared Eustace, 
with conviction. “You’ll have to watch him every 
minute.” 

“ Oh, I’ll do that, all right,” said Merrill. “ I know 
he’s a mighty treacherous proposition. I’ve even taken 
the precaution to send a man ahead to Grindstone to 
swear out a warrant for him, although I don’t anticipate 
that there will be any need of serving it.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 361 


“ That's a good idea," said Eustace, approvingly. 

“ There’s another thing to be considered," continued 
Merrill. “ That mill and the teams there are practi- 
cally in our hands now. We shall have to put a care- 
taker there for two or three days, until I get back from 
Bangor. By that time I shall have some idea what to 
do with them. I hate to take a man off the drive now, 
for I am anxious to get it into Greenbush at the earliest 
possible day." 

“ How would Norman Carver and Fred Warner 
do ? " suggested Eustace. 

“ Just the idea ! " exclaimed Merrill, with enthusiasm. 
“ Let them take three days’ provisions and go over 
there. At the end of that time I’ll plan to relieve them. 
And now let’s get some signed statements out of those 
men." 

There’s one thing to be considered," said Eustace. 

If you let these men go, there’s nothing to prevent 
them from going back to the mill and making matters 
uncomfortable for the boys." 

“ That’s so," admitted Merrill. I suppose they all 
have their dunnage in the camp there. They’ll have to 
go back and get it. I don’t think they’ll be looking for 
trouble, though, after I’ve read them the riot act. I 
guess they’ll be glad to go back and get their stuff and 
clear out. At any rate. I’ll try and make it clear to 
them that such a course will be most decidedly best for 
their health." 

“All the same, I think I’d better let Sol go with 


362 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


them to-day,” said Eustace. He can stay with them 
to-night, and go back on the drive in the morning.” 

“ That’s a good idea,” agreed Merrill. ‘‘ I’ll tell 
every one of those fellows that if he wants to keep out 
of jail, he’ll have to get his duds and clear out before 
two o’clock this afternoon. That will clear the deck, 
and give the boys plain sailing.” 

For the next hour or two Merrill and Eustace were 
busy with the men of Crowley’s crew, who, with the 
prospect of escaping jail, were entirely willing to make 
the signed statements required of them, and to agree 
to leave that region at once. 

While this work was in progress, Sol Soc, Norman, 
and Fred Warner, armed with Winchester rifles, and 
carrying a good supply of provisions, were on the way 
down the river to take charge of Crowley’s mill and 
camp. Arriving at the mouth of the brook upon which 
they were situated, they took their way up the path that 
ran beside it. The little stream was pretty well filled 
with a string of logs, bearing the various marks of the 
different concerns that made up the East Branch Log 
Driving Company. Sol examined the tracks along the 
brook with interest, and an air of deep disgust. 

“ Tellum whole story,” he grunted. 

‘‘Of course they do, Sol — to you,” admitted Nor- 
man ; “ but you know the most of us can read a book 
a good deal better than we can tracks.” 

“ Dat ben big book,” declared the Indian, pointing 
to the medley of tracks upon the sand-bank. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 363 


‘‘Yes,” conceded Norman, with a laugh; “that was 
plain enough for Fred to read — in part, at least.” 

Sol gave him a commiserating look. 

“ You learn heap things byumby,” he said. 

“ I think Fd pick them up fast, Sol, if I had you for 
a teacher,” responded Norman. 

“ I gass so,” said Sol, well pleased at the compliment. 

“ You see now why we didn’t catch but one fish 
here yesterday,” said Fred. “ Those fellows didn’t 
have much of anything to do days, but fish. As a 
result, they had the trout pretty well cleared out of 
this brook.” 

“ Come back lill time,” said Sol. 

“You mean that they will run up the brook from 
the East Branch?” questioned Norman. 

“ Ya-as.” 

“ I reckon it will take a week or two for a new trout 
population to find all the good holes,” said Fred. 

“ Com’ in fas’,” asserted Sol. “ Me know good 
place for fish on East Branch.” 

“ I hope it isn’t very far off,” remarked Norman. 

“ Ah, no ; mebbe pretty near,” suggested Sol, mys- 
teriously. 

“ I think I could do quite a good turn at cooking 
trout, if they came my way,” said Warner. 

“ You haveum,” was the Indian’s laconic answer. 

“ That means business,” laughed Norman. “ You 
must remember, Fred, that Sol’s word is fully as good 
as his bond.’^ 


364 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


For a time they walked along in silence, the boys 
absorbed in their own reflections, falling naturally into 
the taciturn mood of the Indian. 

Presently they crossed the log at the foot of the dam, 
and slowly climbed the well-worn road that led up the 
incline to the little mill clearing, on the further side of 
which, half screened by a fringe of cedars, the boys 
perceived for the first time a log camp and horse hovel. 

“No seeum before?” questioned Sol, noting their 
evident surprise. 

“ No,” confessed Norman. “ We were looking at 
the mill when we came into this clearing yesterday. 
Before we had time to look at anything else, Jabe 
Crowley butted in and filled the whole landscape.” 

“ He was about all one pair of eyes could take in,” 
corroborated Warner. “ He absorbed our whole atten- 
tion.” 

“ Me wish me ben dere,” sighed the Indian, regret- 
fully. 

Warner indulged a low chuckle. 

“ I believe you expressed the same wish yesterday,” 
he said, turning to Norman. “ You thought matters 
might have been more interesting for Crowley under 
those circumstances.” 

“ I haven’t any doubt but that they would,” declared 
Norman; “although that ducking Crowley got was 
certainly entertaining — to us.” 

“ Me giveum big licking,” said the Indian, con- 
fidently. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 365 


I guess it was just as well you were not here,” 
laughed Warner. “ You would probably have put a 
dent in Crowley’s beauty; but the chances are that a 
number of his men were in and around the camp here. 
Of course they would have come to his assistance.” 

“ Me lickum whole crowd,” declared Sol, boastfully. 

** IVe no doubt you’d have made them go some,” 
agreed Norman, diplomatically. 

Crossing the clearing, they entered the small log 
camp, which had been the home of Crowley and his 
men. It was the usual type of structure used by log- 
gers in that section, having a big box stove in the 
center, and a double row of bunks, one above the other, 
extending the entire length of one side. There was 
no dingle, the cook’s quarters, a shed-roofed room, 
being built against the further end of the main camp. 
The effects of the men were in the camp, just as they 
had been left the previous evening. 

‘‘ My ! but isn’t this a filthy place ! ” exclaimed Nor- 
man, as he surveyed the floor coated with tobacco- juice, 
and the torn and dirty blankets that covered the bunks. 

“ I don’t think it would win a gold medal from the 
State Board of* Health,” agreed Warner. 

Takeum all day, cleanum out dirt,” added Sol. 

There will have to be a few cartloads removed 
before I am willing to keep house here,” declared Nor- 
man. “ We’d better look after the horses, and get 
back here to work,” he continued, as he led the way 
out-of-doors. 


CHAPTER XXX 


NORMAN AND FRED KEEP VIGIL 

Now for the horses ! exclaimed Warner, as he 
led the way to the hovel, which stood a short distance 
from the camp. 

A whinny of delight came from the big Percherons 
housed within, as Sol opened the door to the rude 
stable. There were four of them — a span of bays, and 
one of blacks. They were powerful animals, weighing 
more than fifteen hundred pounds apiece; and there 
was an eager welcome for Sol and the boys in their 
large, intelligent eyes. 

“ I don^t think our boys stopped to feed them last 
night,^^ said Warner. ‘‘ They merely tied them up and 
left them.” 

“ Mebbe throwum in lill hay,” suggested Sol. 

“ If they did, it has been pretty well cleaned up,” 
declared Norman, with a glance at the empty cribs. 

“ Wantum water,” declared Sol, looking them over 
with a critical eye. 

Acting upon this suggestion, the horses were backed 
out of their stalls, and led down to the mill-pond, where 
they speedily demonstrated the truth of Sol’s assertion. 

‘‘Ugh! Good job!” grunted the Indian, when the 
366 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 367 

big horses had been returned to their stalls and supplied 
with a generous feed of hay and oats. 

And now I reckon we’d better tackle the camp,” 
said Warner. “ I suppose the first thing to do will be 
to carry out the old boughs that are in the bunks.” 

All three took hold with a will, and at the end of 
an hour the dry boughs that had formed the camp beds 
were blazing brightly in a big bonfire on the shore of 
the mill-pond. Presently the men of Crowley’s crew 
began to put in an appearance, to claim their effects. 
As each one took his departure he was offered his 
choice of the blankets; with the result that, by noon, 
only three or four remained. And these were promptly 
taken down to the shore of the mill-pond, and burned. 

‘‘ Only three extenders and a grain-bag left ! ” 
exclaimed Norman, at 12 o’clock, with a glance at the 
dunnage still hanging upon the wooden pegs in the 
camp ribs. “ We’ve certainly made good progress.” 

“ I imagine those belong to the men who got away,” 
said Warner. “ I don’t believe they will come after 
them. Barney O’Connor was probably right when he 
expressed the opinion that they wouldn’t stop running 
until they reached the Canada line.” 

“ Time getum dinner,” announced Sol, as he pro- 
ceeded to build a fire in the cook-stove. 

‘‘ Right you are, Sol,” agreed Warner. “ We’ve 
been so busy that I didn’t realize it was getting so late. 
We wasted our strength when we toted our provisons 
along,” he added, with a glance around the kitchen. 


368 WITH iPICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


We at least have the satisfaction of knowing that 
ours are clean/’ declared Norman. 

“ That’s so,” assented Warner. Still, you must 
admit that this room isn’t at all bad. It’s very evident 
that their cook was a good deal neater than the rest 
of them. Here are potatoes, and turnips, pork, beans, 
flour, Indian meal, salt, sugar, cream o’ tartar, baking- 
powder, prunes, tea, lard, oleomargarine, Canada peas, 
and a side of bacon — in fact, about everything that is 
necessary to begin housekeeping. Where do they get 
their drinking-water?” 

‘‘ Good spring ’bove mill,” said Sol. 

“ All right. Just fill up those two big pails.” 

“What shall I do?” asked Norman. “I’m the 
cookee, you know.” 

“ Well, you may lug in a little more wood,” said 
Fred. “ I see plainly that Sol is in a starving con- 
dition, so I shall have to hurry things along.” 

A little later they sat down to a hearty dinner, and 
Norman and Sol were quite ready to concede that 
Fred had done full credit to the capable instruction of 
Felix Lamar re. There were baked potatoes, hot bis- 
cuit, fried bacon, and a big pot of steaming tea. 

“I’m going to fry some doughnuts, stew some 
prunes, make up some bread, and bake a pot of beans 
this afternoon,” declared Warner, as he poured the 
tea for Norman and Sol. “ You two will have to 
finish the men’s camp without me.” 

“We sha’n’t have any trouble doing that, with the 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 369 


good start weVe got/’ returned Norman. “ We shall 
be glad to spare time to carry out that interesting pro- 
gramme, sha’n’t we, Sol ? ” 

“ Ugh ! ya-as,” assented the Indian. 

“ He’s really a good deal more enthusiastic about 
it than he cares to let you know, Fred,” explained 
Norman. 

When the meal was finished, Fred shut himself into 
the kitchen while Norman and Sol resumed their work 
in the men’s camp, which, by dint of much sweeping 
and scrubbing, they succeeded in getting into a fairly 
cleanly condition by the close of the afternoon. 

It seems an awful waste of labor, Sol, for the short 
time we are likely to stay here,” said Norman, survey- 
ing the results of their work with keen satisfaction; 

but, you know, I simply couldn’t sleep in a place as 
dirty as this was this morning.” 

Getum boughs ? ” asked the Indian. 

Yes. We might as well finish up while we are 
about it. I don’t suppose it will be necessary to bough 
out any more of the bunk than we shall need for our 
own beds. I reckon we’d better take the upper one. 
The air will be better up there.” 

By six o’clock a considerable section of the upper 
bunk was filled with freshly cut boughs, carefully laid 
with their cut ends at the bottom. Over these were 
spread the clean blankets they had brought with them; 
and, with the pungent, aromatic odors of the balsam 
fir filling the room, and with the musty atmosphere of 


370 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


the camp removed by the thorough cleaning and airing 
out it had received, Norman felt that he would have 
no difficulty in securing a good night’s rest. 

They brought excellent appetites to the good supper 
that Fred had provided for them, which consisted of 
tea, biscuits, freshly fried doughnuts, prune sauce, and 
a tin of hot johnny-bread. It is needless to say that 
they gratified Fred by doing ample justice to his 
cooking. 

After the supper dishes had been cleared away they 
sat on the deacon seat for a short time, discussing the 
exciting events of the past few days; and then, after 
watering and feeding the horses, retired for the night. 

Warner, from force of habit, was up before daylight; 
and, when Norman and Sol had completed their morn- 
ing toilets, had a good hot breakfast awaiting them — 
a pot of freshly baked beans, nicely browned, and sim- 
mering in pork fat, furnishing the principal part of the 
repast. 

“ Do you know,” declared Norman, as he passed his 
plate for a second helping, “ I think we have to have 
a woods atmosphere, to fully appreciate the baked beans 
of the camp. I had our cook bake some by Lamarre’s 
rule when I was home, but somehow, they didn’t taste 
the same.” 

‘‘ You probably didn’t go at them with a woods 
appetite,” said Warner. 

“ No. I don’t think I did,” admitted Norman; “but 
I’d no idea it would make such a difference,” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 371 


Woods, she big medicine,’^ asserted Sol, gravely. 

“That’s true,” agreed Norman; “but one has to 
live there a while to find it out.” 

When they had finished breakfast Sol took his depar- 
ture, the boys parting with him regretfully. Although 
he was not a great talker, they recognized in him a 
fearless and loyal friend. 

“ Rear dribe go by here to-day,” said the Indian, as 
he was leaving. “ You want me, fire two shot — twice 
off. Mebbe me come.” 

“ All right,” said Norman. “ We’ll keep that in 
mind. You’d better plan to come up and stop with 
us to-night, anyway.” 

“ Mebbe me come,” responded Sol, as he took his 
way across the clearing towards the East Branch. 

After he had gone, Norman took care of the horses, 
and lugged the wood and water, while Fred was wash- 
ing up the dishes. After these tasks, the boys sat, for 
a time, on a big log by the mill-pond, talking over the 
experiences that had befallen them on the drive now 
rapidly drawing to a close. It was a novel experience 
for them to find time hanging heavily upon their hands. 

“ I really don’t know what to do with myself,” 
declared Warner, with a yawn. 

“ Let’s get our rifles and try shooting at a mark,” 
suggested Norman. “ The one I have belongs to Steve 
Merrill, and I’ve never had a chance to try it.” 

“ That’s a good idea,” agreed Warner. 

Together they returned and entered the camp. 


372 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


** I think it would be a good idea to give these a 
thorough cleaning before we do any shooting with 
them/' declared Warner, as they took their rifles from 
the corner of the cook-room, and started to leave the 
camp. 

“ But it will take a lot of time," objected Norman. 

‘‘Yes; and we have it to burn," laughed Warner. 
“ I never had any surplus before, and I don’t know 
what to do with it." 

“ I tell you what," said Norman. “ Let’s have our 
shooting-match, and then clean our rifles. In that way 
we shall be able to make one bite of the cherry. If we 
clean them now, we shall have to do 4t all over again 
after we get through using them." 

“ Great head ! ’’ exclaimed Warner, with a laugh. 
“ I yield to your superior wisdom." 

The boys left the camp and started across the clear- 
ing, but suddenly stopped short with astonishment. 
The hovel door was open, and in front of it a man 
was holding one of the big black horses by the bridle. 
Before they could find their voices, a second man 
emerged from the hovel, leading another horse. 

“Hold on, there!" shouted Norman. 

“ Stop right where you are! ’’ commanded Warner. 

The first of the two men — a tall, wiry, dark-com- 
plexioned fellow — turned toward them with a scowl- 
ing face. His companion, short, thick-set, and also of 
swarthy skin, stopped short, with his horse half-way 
through the hovel door. 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 373 


“ W’at yo’ ban say?’’ asked the tall man, coolly. 

“ I said you could hold right up where you are,” 
responded Norman, sharply. ‘‘ What do you think 
you’re going to do with those horses ? ” 

Dey ban ma boss,” was the imperturbable answer. 
“ I t’ink I was tak’ heem home.” 

‘‘ They’re not your horses,” declared Norman, and, 
what’s more, you’re not going to take them home. 
The men all said that they were Crowley’s horses; 
and, whether they are or not, they are in our keeping, 
and are going to stay here until some one with author- 
ity from the Log Driving Company comes after them.” 

“ Yo’ mak’ me for laugh mase’f on ma face. Yo’ 
t’ink yo’ wan ver’ beeg fellaire,” responded the tall 
Frenchman, insolently. ‘‘ Dis boss ban mine. Ba cripe, 
I tak’ heem. Yo’ not so beeg for mak’ me be scare! ” 

“ I don’t care whether you are scared or not,” 
rejoined Norman, resolutely. ‘‘You are not going to 
take those horses. You may lead them right back into 
the hovel, and tie them up in the stalls where you found 
them.” 

“ And you’d better be quick about it,” added Warner. 

“ W’at yo’ do, mebbe I don’ do eet ? ” demanded the 
tall Frenchman, coolly. 

“ If you don’t. I’ll bore a hole in you just as sure as 
you’re standing there,” declared Norman, hotly. 

“ It’s a short shift for a horse-thief,” added Warner. 

“ I tal yo’ dem boss ban mine,” expostulated the 
Frenchman. 


374 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


‘‘I tell you they're not yours," replied Norman; 

and if you want to get out of here with a whole skin, 
you’ll do as I tell you." 

The Frenchmen stood still, with an evident purpose 
to argue the matter; but Norman cut them short. 

“Cover that fellow by the door, Fred," he said; 
“ and if he doesn’t return that horse at once, shoot 
him. ril take care of the other fellow," he added, as 
he drew a bead upon the leader. 

“ Hoi’ on ! Hoi’ on ! ’’ cried the shorter of the tw^o 
men. “ Don’ yo’ go for shoot on me. I tak’ heem 
back prattee queeck," and he began backing his horse 
into the hovel. 

“ Stop yo’se’f rat dere," said the taller of the two 
men, angrily. “ I tal yo’ he ban talk heem on top hees 
hat. He pass us de hot air." 

Even as he spoke, Norman fired ; and the sharp sing 
of a bullet caused the tall Frenchman to jump high into 
the air in sudden terror. When he struck the ground, 
his assurance had completely left him. He was white 
and trembling, and his surrender was prompt and abject. 

“ Don’ shoot ! Don’ shobt ! I do w’at yo’ say," he 
shouted, in quavering tones. It was evident that he 
was thoroughly frightened. 

“ Take that horse back and tie him up where you 
found him," repeated Norman, sternly; and his order 
was obeyed with alacrity. 

Norman and Fred followed him up to the hovel 
door, only to find that the horses were standing untied 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 375 


in their stalls, while both Frenchmen had disappeared. 
It was evident that they had improved the brief time 
afforded them to climb out of the small hovel window 
back of the further stall, and make good their escape. 

“ That short fellow went first,’’ declared Warner. 
** It must have been a tight squeeze for him. When 
the tall fellow came in and found himself alone, he was 
more than rattled, and didn’t lose any time in following 
suit. He must have gone through that window head 
first, like a Jack out of a box. Didn’t have time to 
go any other way.” 

‘‘ Fred,” announced Norman, in deep disgust, we’re 
a pair of lunkheads. The only thing that saved us was 
the fact that we were dealing with a couple of bigger 
ones. Just think of our going down on the mill shore, 
and leaving our rifles at the camp ! ” 

‘‘ It was certainly short-sighted in us,” admitted 
Warner, a little sheepishly. 

Those fellows didn’t see us down on the shore,” 
continued Norman. “ They probably took a peek into 
the men’s camp, saw that there was no one there, and 
immediately hustled out to get their horses. If they 
had looked into the cook’s camp, they would have dis- 
covered our rifles. It would then have been a very easy 
matter for them to have taken possession of them, and 
had us completely at their mercy. Under the circum- 
stances, I think we got out of the matter very well.” 

It’s funny that they didn’t hear us when we went 
back to the camp,” remarked Warner. 


376 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


** They would, if they hadn’t both been in the 
hovel,” declared Norman. 

“ I’m not quite certain that we’re out of this scrape 
yet,” said Warner. They’re likely to come back after 
dark and try it again. Perhaps they’ll come armed and 
bring reinforcements.” 

‘‘I hardly think so,” said Norman; but there is 
one thing certain: they’ll never get those horses with- 
out a fight. You and I will have to take turns guarding 
that hovel to-night. I think it would be a good idea 
to water and feed the horses before dark, and then nail 
up the hovel door. I don’t imagine any one would come 
provided with a claw-hammer; and it would bother 
them a little to get in.” 

Perhaps Sol will be with us to-night to help us 
out,” suggested Warner, hopefully. 

The Indian, however, failed to put in an appearance, 
and the boys took turns guarding the hovel through 
the rest of the day and the long, tedious hours of the 
night. 

The greater part of the following day was passed in 
taking care of the horses and making up lost sleep, one 
of them being constantly on guard. The life which 
had promised to be so easy, at the start, had suddenly 
become of the most strenuous character. 

The third night in the camp found them decidedly 
weary of their long watch, but determined to keep it 
up with unceasing vigilance. About nine o’clock Nor- 
man, who was standing guard, suddenly detected the 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 377 


forms of three men who were making their way across 
the clearing in the darkness. 

“ Halt ! ’’ he shouted. “ Stop right there ! ’’ 

“ All right. Anything t’ please ye,” said a familiar 
voice. 

‘‘ Tom Boggs! ” exclaimed Norman, joyfully, hurry- 
ing forward to meet them. “ And Sol and Jud Skin- 
ner I ” he added, as he recognized the other two men. 
“ Come into the camp. I’m mighty glad to see you,” 

‘‘ I had some doubts ’bout it, th’ way ye hung us 
up there,” laughed Skinner. 

“ Good boy. Keepum eyes open,” said Sol, approv- 
ingly. 

A hearty welcome awaited the party from Fred 
Warner, when they entered the camp. 

“ Jud Skinner, as I’m alive ! ” he exclaimed. “ We 
thought we’d lost you.” 

I’ve been workin’ a crew o’ men ahead o’ the 
drive,” explained Skinner. ‘‘ I reckon I’ve saved the 
company a few jams, by headin’ of ’em off. I heard 
ye’d got back, an’ I’m right glad t’ see ye agin, boys.” 

The newcomers relieved Norman and Fred of the 
task of watching the hovel that night, and afforded 
them an opportunity of enjoying their sound sleep 
without interruption. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


CONCLUSION 

“ Steve Merrill sent Jud an’ me in here to board in 
the ends o’ th’ mill an’ take out th’ bosses,” explained 
Tom Boggs to Norman and Fred, the following 
morning. 

‘‘ Well, I suppose that means that Fred and I are 
going back to the crew,” said Norman. 

‘‘Yes,” replied Boggs; “I guess Steve was a-plan- 
nin’ on ye cornin’ back this mornin’ with Sol.” 

“ I suppose the company owns both the mill and the 
horses now,” remarked Warner. 

“ I reckon thet’s ’bout th’ size on it,” replied Skinner. 
“Ye see, Crowley was willin’ t’ do ’most anything t’ 
settle matters up — an’ I notice thet Steve spoke ’s 
if he owned things here, when he got back from 
Bangor. He says he’s a-goin’ t’ move th’ mill soon 
es snow flies.” 

“ ’Twould be a little tough t’ try t’ move it on bare 
ground in th’ present condition o’ th’ roads hereabouts,” 
interposed Boggs. 

“ I’ve noticed a scurcity of ottymobuls ’round here,” 
said Skinner, dryly. 

Breakfast was soon over, and the boys took their 
378 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 379 


leave of Boggs and Skinner. They appreciated the fact 
that the drive, so far as they were concerned, would 
soon be over, and that they might never see the good- 
hearted fellows again. There was real feeling in the 
cordial good wishes expressed at parting; and the boys 
could not help feeling a little depressed, as they fol- 
lowed Sol down the bank of the brook and over the 
log bridge, on their return to the big driving-camp. 

They found that the East Branch rear drive had 
passed the mouth of the brook during their absence, 
and was several miles down the river. Here Felix 
Lamarre had established his wangan and was busily 
at work with his cooking, still using of necessity open 
fires and Dutch ovens, although the sweltering mid- 
summer weather made these primitive methods exceed- 
ingly uncomfortable. 

The boys were given a cordial welcome back by 
Merrill and Eustace, who were urging on the men with 
their customary vigor. The long weeks of hard service 
had already worked their transformation upon the men 
of the crew. Long-haired, gaunt, hollow-eyed, and 
sore-footed, they still pushed on their work with dog- 
ged tenacity and dauntless daring. They were ragged 
and unkempt ; their faces tanned to a leathery hue from 
constant exposure to wind and sun, and covered with 
stubbly growths of beard. The water oozed from the 
slits they had cut in their spike-sole shoes, and they 
slept at night with wet feet. 

So far as Eustace and the boys were concerned, the 


380 WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 


drive would end at Grindstone, where the Bangor and 
Aroostook Railroad crossed the East Branch. Some 
of the men also were planning to leave the crew at this 
point; while the others would keep on until the drive 
was landed in the big booms at Greenbush, a short 
distance above Old Town on the main river. 

The day that they reached Grindstone they were paid 
off and said good-by to Steve Merrill and the members 
of the crew, who parted with them with very evident 
regret. Even Sol Soc, whose home was in Old Town 
and who was therefore booked to go the whole dis- 
tance, could not prevent a show of feeling from 
breaking through his barrier of stoicism when he 
shook Norman’s hand at parting. 

Me no forgetum,” he said, with very evident feel- 
ing; and, turning abruptly, he stalked away to join the 
men of the crew. 

“ He didn’t want you to see how badly he felt,” 
explained Eustace. 

“ I know it,” said Norman, with tears in his eyes. 
‘‘ What a loyal fellow he is, and how much I owe 
him!” 

A little later in the day, at Grindstone station, he 
took his leave of Eustace and Fred, who went up the 
line on their way home. 

“ I shall certainly see you both again,” he said, as 
he shook their hands at parting. ‘‘ Fred and I are 
going to have a hunting trip next fall, and we shall 
insist on having you with us, Billy.” 


WITH PICKPOLE AND PEAVEY 381 


‘‘ If I ever take a vacation, it will be at that time,” 
promised Eustace. 

When they were gone, Norman felt depressed and 
disconsolate; but as he whirled along in the train soon 
after, on his way to Bangor, where he was to take the 
boat for Boston, thoughts of home put him in a more 
cheerful frame of mind. He fully determined, how- 
ever, to come to Maine the following fall for a hunting 
trip, and, if possible, bring his father with him. This 
plan was carried out in due time; but the experiences 
of that trip will be told in a future volume, entitled: 
The Young Guide, or. Two Live Boys in the 
Maine Woods. 



Raymond Benson Series 

By CLARBNCB B. BURLBIQH 
Ulustrated by L». J. Bridgman Large i2mo, Cloth 
$1.50 per volume 

The Camp on Letter K 

“^HE story deals with two active boys in Aroostook County close to the 
^ northeastern boundary of our country, and where smuggling across 
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Rochester, N. Y. 

Raymond Benson at Krampton 

R aymond ben son and his friend, Ned Grover, go to Krampton 
Academy, which is no other than the noted school at New 
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The Kenton Pines 

«t^ENTON COLLEGE” is Bowdoin 
^ College, beautiful in its location and 
famous in its history. Raymond’s athletic 
abilities insure him immediate and enduring 
prominence as a student, and the accounts of 
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“ This book, like the other of the series, is of a very high character, and should 
be an inspiration to all boys contemplating a college career.” — Interior. 


Por sale at alt booksellers or seat postpaid on receipt of 
price by the publishers 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 




Making of Our Nation Series 

By WILLIAM C. SPRAQUB 

Large xamo. Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute 

Price per volume, $1.50 

The Boy Courier of Napoleon 

A Story of the Louisiana Purchase 

W ILLIAM C. SPRAGUE, the notably suc- 
cessful editor of “ The American Boy,” 
has given for the first time the history 
of the Louisiana Purchase in entertaining story 
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ville^ Ky.^ Times. 

“An excellent book for boys, containing just enough history to make them hunger 
for more. No praise of this book can be too high.” — Town Topics ^ Cleveland., O, 
**This book is one to fascinate every intelligent American boy.” — Buffalo Times, 

The Boy Pathfinder 

A Story ol the Oregon Trail 

T his book has as its hero an actual character, 

George Shannon, a Pennsylvania lad, who 
at seventeen left school to become one of 
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ark, N. J., Advertiser, 


For male by all booksellers or seat postpaid on receipt of 
price by the publishers 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 




TWO YOUNG INVENTORS 

THE STOHY OF THE FLYING BOAT 

By ALVAH MILTON KERR lUus- 
trated ^^1.25 

H ere is a rattling good story; a tale of 
mystery, mechanism, and getting on in 
the world that will be a boy’s favorite for years. 
Two youths, both born inventors, make each 
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of a mechanical education.. Mr. Kerr has 
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“The book is full of life, incident, and stirring success.” — Watchman^ Boston. 
“ The book is deeply interesting, at times intensely exciting, and yet thoroughly 
clean and wholesome throughout.” — Portland Express. 

YOUNG HEROES OF WIRE AND RAIL 


By ALVAH MILTON KERR Ulus- 
trated i2mo Cloth $1.25 

T he place which the sea once held in sup- 
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“The tone of the work is healthful and inspiring.” — 

Boston Herald. 

“They are calculated to inspire boys to become manly, and incidentally they 
contain considerable valuable information.” — Newark News. 

•‘An ideal book for a young boy is ‘Young Heroes of Wire and Rail,*”— = 
Episcopal Recorder ^ Philadelphia. 


For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
by the publishers, 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 






PIGEON CAMP SERIES 

By MARTHA JAMES 

Illustrated Cloth Large I2mo $1.25 per volume 

Jimmie Suter 

JIMMIE SUTER is a sturdy, active, honest 
boy, whose parents are in moderate circum- 
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“In his kindness and thoughtfulness for both men 
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The Boys of Pigeon Camp 

J IMMIE SUTER, with his mechanical skill, Rand Cotter, son of a rich 
father, but not the least bit of a snob, Philip Moon, always kind to 
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TheHero of Pigeon Camp 

F our bright young schoolboys have a camp 
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“Good, wholesome reading for boys and girls who 
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salist Leader. 

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
by the publishers, 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 


TMEMER© ©F 
HOEOM CMP 



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